I Don't Want Your Flowers

I don't want your flowers

I don't want your money

I don't want your good love

Just leave me alone, honey

Your abuse is not excused by gifts

or cash

No, you're not allowed anywhere near my ass

I'm moving on from your stinking trash

Cuz I want a man who's got harmonic class

I want a music man

who'll sing me to sleep

when I'm in a jam

He'll touch me where you never can

he's an auditory apocalypse in a black Mercedes van

He mends my heart with waves by the sea

Even though he can't see me

Sounds so sweet, rhythmic and complex

I'm floating on tones

Slipping into passionate moans

Crying like Lucille

Oh please, let me heal

Let me lie next to you, friend

And be your Major Second

I don't want your flowers

I don't want your money

I don't want your good love

Just sing to me, honey

Just sing to me, honey

Part of a Creative Writing Project: Letters to Geographer 2015-2016