She'll greet you like an old friend
And then never speak to you again
She'll whisper softly into your ear
But for all accounts and purposes, remain unclear
She'll lead you to the corner of the chapel
And find a way to capture your heart
Beneath God and all his merchandise
And still you'll remain desolate and at large
Like a jewel thief aloof, but duly charged
She'll try to kiss and to devour
And then pretend you could never exist
She'll feign ignorance as to the hour
But for all accounts and purposes, you will persist
She'll lead you to her treasured bar stool
beneath the oak tree you so consciously ignored
only to remain vulgar and misleading
and subsequently adored by you and all the other children throwing tantrums
and caution to the wind
She'll open wounds that will not mend
She'll take your hand with such intention
that subverts any initial trepidation
with only your poison and your neurosis as your fourth wall
She'll wheeze and cough and you'll heed the call
She'll present to you your dreams
packaged nice and neatly like a birthday gift
that you'd been waiting for since you were born
and you wonder if maybe now they can be realised
and you wonder if these derbies are just too big to fill
and you wonder if this hunger will ever well and truly subside
and you wonder why the coffee always tastes so bad
and you wonder why, at the first sign of life, for all accounts and purposes, She'll scamper and hide
well boy, you think too much.