Pursuit Of The Pimpmobile

An electric current binds us together forever

I am a memory burnt onto thin air

When you call me with vibrations

In harmony with some Saturnine frequency

I spill outward, or flow, or list, or gel

It is somewhere between your mind and mine

Where, I cannot exactly tell

I want you to think about "93"

It isn't like planting a thought in your head

Or an image of a thought

But more like creating a thought

In sympathy with yours

The blind need to see

The deaf need to hear

We need to speak

I love you