If you love me baby, smile.
And the glow from the moon,
will reflect off your teeth,
and bounce down the highway,
brighter and cleaner than every headlight,
speeding, zooming faster with every mile,
arriving through my window,
through the slats in the shutters,
to add a sheen to my room.
(Moon beams don’t know how to use a door.)
I will bask in its warmth,
and know that it’s true:
That you love me baby,
and I make you smile.
