Tuesday, January 6, 2015

Dear Women by Mike Reid

I just wonder what you taste like.

We don't even have to go all the way, I'm cool with stopping and second base.

As long as I get a second to taste why they call you "Woman."

Because the Man in me realizes that me making
sure you come first will put me first place.

You've got the cake, and I've got the candle,
So it's only right that every day is your birthday.

So let's make love, not war.

If you let me take my talents to your bedroom.

I promise to deliver.

Not 1, not 2, not 3, not 4.

Besides, the only good thing I've ever seen come
from arguing is the "make up" sex.

So I'd much rather make your day before you even get out of bed.

If I'm right there beside you, it would be with some head.

But if not, I'd much rather have your stomach in
knots from the butterflies you get from rolling over,
grabbing your phone, and the first thing you see
before you check your Instagram is my "good morning beautiful" when you wake up text.

Only thing I want to fight about is who loves who more.

Furthermore, I promise that the only time I'll make you cry is on our wedding day.

And I want our love to give people the samehope that Obama did on Election Day.

I want that "we don't need to use condoms anymore" type love.

That, "the bedroom is too far so let do it right here on the floor" type love.

That "can you pick me up a pack of pads while you're at the store" type love.

The type of love that makes me want to buy the food, cook it, and do the dishes.

As long as I can eat with you.

And the whole world could be at war, I wouldn't care as long as when I came home and shut my door I would be a peace with you.

If my heart was a large pepperoni pizza, I would want to give the last piece to you.-Mike Reid

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