Pursuit of the Pimpmobile

An electric current binds us together forever I am a memory burnt onto thin air When you call me with vibrations In harmony with some Saturnine frequency I spill outward, or flow, or list, or gel It is somewhere between your mind and mine Where, I cannot exactly tell I want you to think about "93" It isn't like planting a thought in your head Or an image of a thought But more like creating a thought In sympathy with yours The blind need to see The deaf need to hear We need to speak I love you