maureenjohnson: ME: It’s CALLED Random House. It’s a publisher. FEDEX: Yeah, but we can’t send to a random house. It needs an address. ME: It HAS one.

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Since you asked

with her killer graces
and her secret places
that no boy can fill
with her hands on her hips
oh, and that smile on her lips
because she knows that it kills me
with her soft french cream
standing in that doorway
like a dream
I wish she'd just leave me alone
but french cream won't soften
them boots and french kisses
will not break that heart of stone
with her long hair falling
and her eyes that shine
like the midnight sun
she's the one
that thunder in your heart at night
when you're kneeling in the dark
it says
you're never gonna leave her
but there's this angel in her eyes
that tells such desperate lies
and all you wanna do is believe her
and tonight you'll try
just one more time
to leave it all behind
and to break on through
oh, she can take you
but if she wants to break you
she's gonna find out
that ain't so easy to do
and no matter where
you sleep tonight
or how far you run
she's the one
with just one kiss
she'll fill these long summer nights
with her tenderness
that secret pact you made
back when her love could save you
from the bitterness
she's the one

maureenjohnson: ME: It’s CALLED Random House. It’s a publisher. FEDEX: Yeah, but we can’t send to a random house. It needs an address. ME: It HAS one.

Posted March 28, 2012 • Comments Off

maureenjohnson: ME: It’s CALLED Random House. It’s a publisher. FEDEX: Yeah, but we can’t send to a random house. It needs an address. ME: It HAS one.

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Since you asked

maureenjohnson: ME: It’s CALLED Random House. It’s a publisher. FEDEX: Yeah, but we can’t send to a random house. It needs an address. ME: It HAS one.