I’m gonna be sick./
He is so slick, throwing out/
sweet words* like St. Nick.
OR
*flirts
I’m gonna be sick./
He is so slick, throwing out/
sweet words* like St. Nick.
OR
*flirts
There must be reasons*/
for silence. For ignoring.
But I don’t know them.
OR
There are good reasons*/
for silence. For ignoring.
But I don’t know them.
She shakes her head, and/
like sunlight reflected/
off waves, I’m blinded.
She captivates me./
Blue streaked hair, n’er tongue, too young,/
yet I get misty.
It’s always awesome/
to be insulted by a /
woman you don’t know.
If she hadn’t stopped/
emailing me, we’d have our/
anniversary.
When a woman says:/
“We don’t have much in common”,/
believe and accept her opinion./
Move on,/
(even if she’s wrong.)
Why would they do that?/
To release you to passions/
you’ve only dreamt of.
She likes it. I like/
her. When will our likes at last/
like one another?
Almost ran away/
but then realized: You can’t/
outrun fantasies.