Honey

If inspiration struck me
I would strike back
and not turn the other cheek.
I'd write something eloquent
I'd give you a standing ovation
with my pen.
If you were a hospital
or a doctor
I would continually be
holding the thermometer to the flame.

You, girl, sing a song to me
you weave a melody
and I, boy
turn my ship to follow
the salty brine I swallow,
is your honey.