Beautiful Music

Here's what happens when a semi-creative person, in the honeymoon phase of their relationship (not that it's over for me), gets ahold of a Xanax, a pen, and a barfbag as they are embarking on a cross-country flight with their significant other.

In the words of my boy Vincent - a recent double casualty of the at worst most brilliant show on television - Project Runway, "I've been making sweet music all my life, and I'll continue to make sweet music."

Without further rambling, my poetry:

"Poem on a Barf Bag" By Scott Huff

My girl is nothing like a barf bag.
Puking inside of her is not okay.
She is not made of paper,
and she is not kept in a fabric pocket underneath a pullout tray table.

My girl is different from a barf bag,
she is not white.
She is a little Latino/Asian fireball,
ready to hook up a taco, or throw a Chinese star.

My girl is nothing like a barf bag.
She is my girl.
And that.
Is why she is mine!
Love me, Love me, Love me, Sex machine.


"Untitled" a Love Sonnet by the one and only Scott B. Huff

The moon's gentle lumination
Touching the surface of the Pacific
Can't compare to the light
In your eyes

Fasten your seatbelt,
by placing the buckle into
the metal thing. No shit.
I hope you're buckled up

The perfect botany of the orchid
Is nothing,
Compared to your hot ass, and boobs,
I mean it!

You are like no one else.
A perfect specimen,
Of sweet devotional love.
Of love. Did I mention love.
I love you.
Never inflate the vest inside the aircraft.