She’s got to want it so badly
that she has to ask me, got to grab me,
and though I pull away sadly
I want it all the more.

All her angst and gentle pining
steadily, heartbeat, vastly climbing
with grace and simple timing
I pull her to shore.

‘Pon this land of silk and money,
she does laugh and chase the bunny,
but my needs have farther measure
beyond laughter, far past pleasure.

When the dancing is fixated
‘pon the harvest we’ve created,
let us chance to taste the sun;
flights of fancy have begun.

I slow down, she chases nigh.
I halt and wonder why
highfalutin nonsense dies.
Off the carousel, she cries.

All my passion’s dares and flaunts;
she won’t get the things she wants.