This is to my cover up girl…
To my queen in the long dresses, real smile, and real hair. She is a maze of amazing qualities calling my name from higher up. In order to even capture her gaze in her capturing essence I must go higher up. I cannot simply look up, but stand down, no- I must rise like dark night to dawn, touch my feet to clouds and stand. My. Ground.
My cover up girl isn’t like all the rest. She’s got class like Mrs. Cleaver, but yall just leave it to cleavage and though I blink when I see it, I already know… on the echelon pole of women with angelic glow she’s a rose on top while yall just battle for the bottom post. My cover up girl is a secret like your deepest woes, but she wields joy in spades because her heart’s in the right place.
I never met a girl I didn’t want to holla at until I met her… Nor yet since. It’s nonsense to think another girl exists with her sense… Never met a girl who I didn’t take at least ten seconds imagining what it might be like getting up under her skirt- caressing her face until my finger tips danced romantilustfully down her shirt so we could do the tango and end up… tangled.
My cover up girl gives me nothing to work with save the work I put in listening and trying to sound intelligent. Sure sexiness and crude humor loom under the sailing moon of our conversations, but for once… I don’t want it. I don’t want the cart before the horse, the sweets before the main course, and what’s blowing my mind is, the depth of this friendship is making her more attractive than any girl I’ve touched or fantasized about before!
It must be pig flyin season…
This is to my cover up girl.
For takin pride in this time between being invisible and seen… It calls out the man in me.
This is to my cover up girl who does not even know I admire her so…
Your wrap of choice is the jeweled gates of Heaven and even if nobody else believes it… I know.
Thank you… my cover up girl.