She is as beautiful as San Francisco, my love, as beautiful as New York City
She is as frightening as SEAL Team Six
But my mourning dove, my orange blossom special, my manifest destiny
Has no competition

She is the pure child born on July 4th
She takes one small step, one giant leap
She is as beautiful as the Petrified Forests of Arizona, as stunning as the oil fields of east Texas

How beautiful are her feet in their Chuck Taylor’s!
Her legs move like notes of blue, polyrhythms, and improvisation ―the work of an expressive musician
Her navel is like a beautiful glass of lemonade
Her stomach is like sweet corn with trilliums around it

Her eyes are like the Aquifer of Ogallala
Her nose is like the tower of Willis, which looks toward Lake Michigan
Her head stands great like Mount Hood
Her rolling curls are like the Hollywood Hills

How beautiful!
How pleasing!
How happy!
My love!

Bright like an Orange tree
Her breasts are its fruit
I will climb to the top and swing from the branches

I anticipate her presence
O, may her breasts be like Concord grapes on the vine, may her breathe be sweet like that of wintergreen
And may her mouth be like the wine of Napa County


Andrew Borne is 2 Cups Poet 1 teaspoon Musician 1/4 teaspoon Salt 1/2 cup Absurdity 3/4 cup Chef 1 egg, beaten 2 1/3 cups Family Man. Mixed together and served raw. His column 7x appears weekly in Oddball Magazine. Check out Part 1 of “American Solomon” here.