"and sometimes the heart does allow a man to rhyme,
even if it's in twelve syllable lines at times...
penning in perfect or near-perfect lines...
the feelings for another in his heart's confines...
i wonder if she remembers "us" from the start...
well, not the eighth grade "us" sharing a class of art...
with the school picture where shots did part;
her "bryant gumbel" parting shot 'cause i was smart,
wore glasses, or maybe 'cause i looked like the man...
but anyways...i'm off-subject; that's not the plan...
i'm referring to "operation: racket man";
elton john just said he's suing; fuck him, he can...
yeah, i had his song playing when i wrote that line,
but my play on his words mean now his words are mine...
besides, if ruled on how "infringement" is defined,
a judge, at most, would issue punishment in a fine...
but i'm off-topic again; back to the story...
my remembrance of our past stored in memory...
our history; not just "honors world history";
"us" in tenth grade; "us" with only tenth grade worries...
i often wonder if she can even recall,
exactly why she gave me a number to call...
yeah, i carried 'round a tennis racket and balls,
but i never figured that would "net" her at all...
she was standing by an exit one warm spring day,
waiting for a ride so she could be on her way...
that encounter between us is when she did say,
"brian, i'm interested in learning how to play;
perhaps you could offer me a lesson or two?"
to which i replied, "i can show you what to do;
i can teach you anytime you have the time to;
what's your number so i can get in touch with you?"
then she placed seven digits on my palm in pen,
marker; can't think of what writing tool was chosen...
i just know that our relationship started when,
i had to be off the phone with her before ten..."
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