I just wanted to tell you that you have nice lobes— especially your frontal. It stimulates my entire being. When yours is stimulated, I cannot help but to melt into the moment. It’s exotically beautiful. Has anyone ever told you that before? Oh, and I cannot stop thinking about the way you use your premotor cortex, there’s something about it— the way you move every time I’m around makes me crave the next time we are together before it’s even here.
I love the way you handle your temporal lobe— you always crave to hear what I have to say. But best of all, how you gaze into me when I exist in front of you. I control your thalamus in the most infallible way. Every thought about you is undeniably captivating— You are delicious.
You mean more to me than just an ephemeral massage of the amygdala. You are my amygdala— you are my happiness, you are my sadness, you are my surprise, you are my fear. Just know that there is nothing that can be more true than this.
I want, I need, I pine to run my fingers through your limbic system as if it were threads of silk. I promise to always wash my hands before, but I know how you like it dirty. I want to make it feel good. I want to be the only one to make it feel that good.
Give me your unyielding impulse of affection. I want nothing more than to throw off your circadian rhythm— I will make your day seem like night and blindly invade your cingulate cortex…your secrets are safe with me.
Call me unusual, but I am the quotient of your mind. There were many formulas and equations had before you thoroughly enraptured my occipital. But the best part about this is that I am in love with you— I am in love with your m i n d.
And, that is the only thing I cannot see.