Maybe we'd be jews, maybe we eat glue,
and maybe it's strange I say I love you.
But girl, you and me, that's a perfect match,
like lighters and fighters, eating a belt latch.
I'm sorry I'm fat, I'm sorry you have pimples.
I'm sorry my chin is imploded with dimples.
But keep it simple, we're both poets,
and I put socks in my lunchbox, even if you dunno it.