Happy Valentine's Day. Or, in other words, here's to the collapsing, impossible no-body of love, in the house of Keith Sweat. The lyrics which ruin the prospect of there only being this One (because of capacity to sex your body, capacity to strangely mix a few senses of the word "holler" in "I want you to holler, when you want me to stop") for that One (you as "baby"), from "nobody but me"
And who can do it like me (nobody)
to the looping end of the road, where there's no one for any baby, where the night may last a long time, but it will be left undone.
And who can give you what you need (nobody)
Who can do you all night long (nobody)
Nobody, baby (nobody)
As if Odysseus wrote sex jams in a New Jack turtleneck. As if nobody, not even Nobody, could stab Polyphemus into the endless night of blindness.
On, no, on, and on, on...
No, no, no (nobody)
Such is the cooing shape of the Two. Good night, baby.