I still dream of that first love,
    That perfect composition of black and white and blue eyes to freeze the sun.
I still dream of the second confusion,
    That flowing figure who had too much fun with life even though she cut.
I still dream of that third promise,
    Those two eyes of lightning storms and a smile to quiet the loudest gun.

Three strikes,
     the third was the charm,
          but the lock on my charm bracelet fell off,
               the luck ran out.