Damn Sam, I Love a Woman That Rains

And I will settle for nothing less.  I'll walk this world alone till I find the one that does.  I want her to be sweet.  I want her to be engaging.  I want her to be welcoming like the women in my family.  I want her to look me in the eye.  I want her to be clear as a silver bell.  I want her eyes to be blue...or whatever color they may come by.  I want her to have eyes, preferably.  I want her to be soft and smell good.  Like rose water, or bluebonnets.  I want her to be smart and speak with grace.  I want her to disarm me with a glance.  I want to glance off her ricochet.  I want to change her tires and cook her a country breakfast in the mornings.  I want the stupid pillow talk.  I want to slap her ass when she walks into my kitchen.  I want to put her name in my phone as "My Lover," disregarding her name.  I want her to laugh out loud with my sister, like she does.  Cackling at the moon and everything underneath.  I want to write her silly poems that I leave in envelopes, hidden in places she'll find before work.  In fact, everything I write is to her...before I even know her.  I am as sound as an old fucking engineer.  Ryan Adams is a Scorpio, just like me.  That means nothing (I'm listening to him).  I am at a point where I feel very blessed.  Age does that to you.  You count your eggs, and they mean so much...big, round, and full.  Hearty, as they are.  Full of sustenance.  Good things abound and I feel filled to the brim.  I have everything I need and then some.  This boy is full of blessings.  I wouldn't trade it for anything.  I do want a woman.  A woman that rains.  On me.  Damn Sam, I do fucking love a woman that rains.