Dear Heather Beck 1,

I speak to you solidly, and I speak to you lite. I want you to feel my voice more then hear it, let it blossom and bloom inside your core , let my words heal you; feel them more then understanding - more then comprehension. Let my phylosophy, seniority, and sense made, articulate your next provoked therefore intelligent gesture and yet movement, guide my masculinity into your widows peak, allow my explanatory sense of writing improvisation, glitter down yo soul like cool enough whatever, satisfying your hydration and thirst. I need you IN THE WORST WAY! Like my song say, come through plow pipe you cause it's Thursday. With them swinging and swaying , throwing da k**s into a frenzy, oxygen do a Spud McKenzie, Cause it's Wednesdee, no bc I'm writing this , and there's no c***dren in the fansenity. To hold them low precisely together then vigorously the, tongue kiss, your lips, of which, I could only dream, Belvedere, Grey Goose, - Tonic and Vodka; Those type of drinks, maybe baby apple juice. Plus your pussy juice I'm thirsty, make it rain out of your slish, make it glursh, make it swish - come score me.

Happy 21st birthday...... Yadadadada OOOh.