You say you want a love that weathers; well I’m a damn storm-cover. I’m a ration of freakin’ spam. I’m a 10-year collection of flashlights; a survival kit for the cold nights when there ain’t nothin’ but the rain. In the morning, I’m a homemade shower, collected in a shovel, and rigged with twine. If this is an emergency, honey, my love is 911 and my kiss is on call 24/7. I’m gonna reach you through weeks of radio silence; a solitude deep as December snow. If this is the last waltz, we’re gonna Fred Astaire that shit. If this is hasta la vista, well baby, I’ve got your back.