Why do I want you?
That ***** look
Of a bed of many lovers?
What sets you apart from a young ****** untouched?
Because I've grown to love all your ways.
Those high full hips,
That shimmering face.
That Marine mentality though formulated as a city chick.
What makes your "can't have me" feel, as you stare into your phone, so much better than a ****** opt to hearken to hear me out?
What have you stolen from me, I ask?
The "I'm sorries" and "I hate that songs"?
The "what the *****", the talk of ***** and water?
You have shaped yourself as one that has friends, that goes out, that parties, the opinionated person still with humility and grace.
I have none of these.
Yet what makes you different than the philosophizing woman, or the pure untouched one?
Or the one who talks of the news and has found reflection?
Do your ways undress me and intice my primal instinct?
Why does your thorn look like a flower?
Without your beauty, you I would not consider.
Why has she imprisoned me by walls and bars?
How has a look and charm benumbed my intelligence?
I can only say that my idea of love doesn't flow into my eyes, and my idea of desire only flows there.
Why are these two different worlds?
To mix the two would make me jealously mad.
The dichotomy makes me fake.