Too tight
Your arms brazen
circling me
Leading me to your core

I am not the apple to adore nor can I allow the fluttering in my stomach to catastrophize my mind

Admiration has it's bouts
But those who admire grow bored
And the admired become ill and hollowed out with bitterness and shallow sound--
tink tink tinking of glasses filled with ice and the numbing of high proofed haste

Steady now!
The notion is fiercely romanticized  
Yet hardly fulfilled
Showing the minds eye just can't be sought out
For I will surely begin to disappear
And you will surely march towards the counterpart of the compass with the parts of me I so tenderly keep tucked abroad

Be careful!
Now with the tables turned
You are beginning to show your bitter cheeky side

(C) Tiffanie Doro