Games, games, games.. These are all silly games. Games for the shallow and the weak. Games for those who cannot speak their mind just yet. But who have to dance around the bushes, burning them with indirect passages. What is my love? Questions. Doubt. Why? Do I want this to work? All these nights dreaming about you and now you're here. And now what? You want to control a part of me? All of me? You want to keep me as a possession? You want to test me? You want someone you know who will always be there? I am becoming more dissatisfied. Barely touched you last weekend, now you want to thwart my embrace until further notice and significance of marriage. Now you feel like it's right for you to wait. But what of the waiting I want? Oh, I wait therefore, we wait. I get it. What strange love is this? Tit for tat? Rather No tits, only tats. Go on, advertise these "other things" we can do. You did close to none of them during my stay. But looked and tugged at me longingly when I with held from commingling with you. After all, you cried after we made love, cried out an apology whilst waters bathed my scent from you. You called me. You called me from your bedroom. You left me in the backyard and called me from your bedroom. Seventy dollars and a fifty-five dollar hotel cancellation fee later, you left me in a tent, alone and cold, after we made love, cried, apologized to the air (or to some preferred lover), and called me from your bedroom. That hurt.
The trouble is I see things some wish they couldn't see. I see how other men look at you. I see how you look at other men. You invoke jealousy. Whether innately or intentionally, you, good woman, invoke.
The trouble is I see things some wish they couldn't see. I see how other men look at you. I see how you look at other men. You invoke jealousy. Whether innately or intentionally, you, good woman, invoke.
