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mudpie,
how do i love thee? let me count the ways. i'll need to borrow your fingers and your long toes, and then i'll need to count in tens and i'll have to make up a brand new system for counting and i'll have to borrow blain's abacus and it will still take me a week and a half if i hurry and the number might never be big enough if i get lazy...

i'll buy a hundred exotic fruits so you can take a bite of every one, and you will be the fruit goddess, and boys will come from miles around to taste your lips and i'll fight them all off with a sword. (i'll let phil in for a little while, but he'll have to wait, oh yes, in a clausterphobic waiting room with boring bord games and sappy music and two year old magazines, and he'll just sit there, misty eyed, remembering the good old days before i had a sword and a waiting room, and he could take you for granted, and when he finally is allowed in he'll be so in love he'll promise you the world, but you'll have already have gotten it from me.)

i'll write a hundred songs about your cooking and your laughter and your lipstick and your smiles and i'll sing them on the radio and at open mic nights and i'll never do anything else, and no one will even mind that i can't play the guitar and my voice is weak and i don't hit all the right notes, because they'll all be dreaming, with their eyes closed, of you.

i'll buy film for your video camera, and i'll follow you around and record the way you walk and the way you sleep and the way you dance, and i'll project it on the sides of the tallest buildings in the city in slow motion over and over and everyone will stop in the streets and watch you, starry-eyed.

i'll write you a love letter and make a hundred empty promises and it will be the best love letter you've ever gotten and when you read it then you'll smile.
-but-ton