Alone in my parlor beside tonight,
A thought curdles inside my chest
Of she,
Who wears the wind upon her breast
And doesn't talk to me.
Doesn't think of me for all I know,
Probably
She rests her legs on a sofa
And rests her eyes
Where some other guy
Tore a piece of her heart and chuckled.
My heart will bear more sorrow ere
I'm rapt in golden-goddess hair,
But she, unknowing, wouldn't lose a wink
For my, still growing, tenderness that's pink
And reddens as I lay my eyes on fair
Features that melt Adonis into Hecate's stink.
I muse, I funk, I meditate on she,
Who thinks, considers nothing fond of me.
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