He's got a nice mouth
that talks and kisses.
That whispers.
And eyes that sigh.
And his hands are
nice to hold and
clap and be around.

Brains and minds
don't mind or matter.
Soon he'll find that
her eyes are too big
and mouth's full of
**** and her hands
are tied, just like
her stomach.

He'll discover on his own
(or with the help of a poem)
that her heart's all
cluttered and flooded
with stupid things.

Time and thoughts
are remedies, but heads
are not extremities
that we can see with
naked eyes and touch
with tender hands.

She's got words
that ramble and
circle his name.
When the tongue
hits the teeth,
she stops because
she likes it.
And she likes
his sideways glances.

He's got guts
and a dark side, surely.
Which is good. And
earlier what she
said about being
trapped in her head
is only maybe true.