The Pickup Line

Come on midnight moonlight magic rain
Rise up against those random stars and preach down on me
I am the naked prophet of your warm moist skin
Your horned god in blue jeans, night storm speak to me
In this my my most difficult hour, my flower, my rose,
my heartbeat, my beer, my longing lingering tingling
from between my pockets to my most sanguine pose
just come down from those clouds and plant one on me