"You are out of his league"
I know
"You used to date football and rugby players."
I know
But haven't you seen the way he looked at me
How he dolls me up in dresses
The snuggles. Wine. Abalone and caviar.
You haven't seen the way
He waits for me with roses at the station.
Massaging me on a Friday night, ripping off
his tie to cover me with kisses.
The way he calls me "Princess" and builds me a blanket fort

So what if he is below my league
if he is the one picking out shoes for me carefully
and the one who holds me
When I cry, tears streaming down like a baby
I have a high league.
I know falcons will circle beauty.
At Davos, or maybe Boao.
But he is not out of my league, He is the league
I belong to.
Snow boots and suits through the Swiss snow.
Just to tuck me in
where my heart is at home