She must get offers all the time
Wishes from the bottom of hungry hearts:
"will you be mine?"
She looks the part, a million times over
Chances are a million, of being her lover
Try to stay detached, let love be a thing apart
From her immaculate face
Shatter it in your memory, like some phoney art
While she forgets
all your lonely praise

© Copyright David Bosworth December 2013