I was two when he stood in my way;
shy and frozen at his feet.
(I thought he was an artist with clay.)

My adoring grew every passing day,
like he was the calming sea
though they told me he'd be gay.

He held me firmly in our teen sway;
begged to see my femininity.
(I thought he was an artist with clay.)

Just friends and nothing more than play,
I was Juliet and he my Romeo
though they told me he'd be gay.

Every kiss drew him closer to stay;
every touch pure sensuality.
(I thought he was an artist with clay.)

Him and I moved to Oregon in May,
for art and Shakespeare.
(I thought he was an artist with clay)
though they told me he'd be gay.