I'm a fluffy mess of charcoaled nerves, just itching to catch your name. To take you out, and try so hard, my jokes a little lame. I'd scrimp and save my every dime, I've found upon the floor. Then call my mother on the phone, and ask her for some more. We'd go, I'm sure, for Cuban corn, it's what I know that's best. Then depending on the bones I've left, we'd discuss the rest. Perhaps a flick, a carafe of wine, and then a walk through Spain. A floating tub, across the sea, pelted soft with rain. To hike up steep, a volcanic rock, to toss our words, our thoughts. Then skip back down, our hands entwined, slaphappy, precoded lovebots. Or maybe just simple, I'm trying too hard, a coffee, a chat and a smoke, And then if you like, you'll call me tomorrow, we'll smooch until we both choke.