Bed-lamb

It could have been a simple conversation

It should have been, but wasn’t, not for me

Because it bore the pungent stench of desperation

She’s a coin, full in sight, but out of reach

 

She could have said her lines a whole lot better

I think I would have liked believability

But she never could have worn a tighter sweater

Here I came to talk – and I can hardly breathe

 

Each time my courage rose her skirt rose higher

Each poignant point was met with stretch and sigh

My heart and head are wrapped around her figure

It seems I’ve lost again – here comes the night.

 

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