No two ways, she’ll absolutely hate this, that I’m writing a poem about her
It’s not like that though
Plus I don’t really think she’d mind so much, not one bit perhaps
She sits on my bed, plays on her phone ’til we mess about somewhat before strolling on home
A good girl, not by all accounts
Always looking to please her mother, her father, even as much as her younger brother
A tease? Absolutely
But the best kind out there so no need for even as much as an ounce of despair
Are we stuck on rewind? she undresses, shows me that near perfect body of hers, leaving me nothing other than impressed before she pulls back on her dress
But I really don’t know her, don’t even know if I’ll ever publish this poem
Or it gets left on the shelf, lost between these pages someplace unattended at home
Our ages? I’m a solid thirty, she a few years down the other side, a live-wire
So here I sit, pen in hand, dirty smoke in the other
Guess I got my bit for now
So I think it’s fair to say things will be absolutely grand
One line I need to remember though, remind myself of about something she said
“Tell no-one, they just can’t know, I’m seeing a fella, so if he does find out I swear to God I’ll be heading on home!”