She Really, Really Is My Sky

She really, really is my sky tonight, My birdsong landscape, cuter than a button, No, really hot, like popping fish grease hot. If not perfume which opens with a kick, I'm sure she will inebriate the masses, Her mouth, a bitter wine tastes sweeter on, She makes my evening's final dish, so what If everyone knows my favorite pillow; She makes my heart skip more than just one beat And the beat goes on, just like my loving . . . Just like fishing in an ocean, there'll always Be someone new . . . the Whispers sung this song On Soul Train back in 1979: Their net of songs are wide, just like my loving . . .