Micheal Valencia (The Twentieth of June, Nineteen Hundred and Eighty Nine / A Suburb of Los Angeles)

My honeysuckle, baby.
Baby, you’re my honeysuckle.
You’re my Honeysuckle Baby.
My Honeysuckle Baby, baby.
From the bush I pluck you,
Put your tart body to my lips,
And draw your sweetness in with my mouth.
My Honeysuckle Baby—that’s what you are.
The baby from whom I get delectable honey.
What fine sweetness through that nice honey.
Fine, fine sweetness, my Honeysuckle Baby.
The honey is you, baby.
The sweetness is yours, honey.
You’re my honey, but you share your sweetness.
And that’s why I keep going to the bush.
And sucking it in: your great sweetness…