Arianne

Arianne is april morning, that comes rippling through my window.
She's the smell of coffee brewing, on a quiet, rainy sunday.
She's the purring of a kitten,
that has made my neck a pillow for his head.
Arianne is silly music that my father used to whistle.
She's the new leaf on a fire
that I had given up last winter
And what writers have to feel like when they suddenly discover they've been read.
Arianne is momma's crystal bread that's nearly finished baking
She's a rainbow in a puddle
and the happiest birthday
she's a'goin out on friday and a'comin back on monday with a tan.
Arianne is made of feelings so I milk her of her kisses
And I swallow up her breathing and I taste her where she love me
And I'm filled to overflowing but there's always room for more Arianne

Arianne is momma's crystal bread that's nearly finished baking
She's a rainbow in a puddle
And the happiest birthday
She's a goin out on friday and a comin back on monday with a tan.

Arianne is made of feelings so I milk her of her kisses
And I swallow up her breathing and I taste her where she love me
And I'm filled to overflowing
but there's always room for more arianne