Speaking technically, you even weren’t my first.
But you were the first to set me on fire.
You’re the one who for beauty quenched my thirs.
Like a masterpiece, boy, I felt admired.
Icy Saint Pete’s deserted for want of you,
And though ages ago like by like I cured,
Now and then, I flinch - wish you saw me, my boo,
A long dress at the opera, so demure.
Just in case you wonder - I’m doing fine:
I’m alive, and even, some say, successful.
If you wish, you can do your research online:
Yes, I’m vain. We are sinful. I’m no exception.
And although you’re now but inside my brain,
I against my will seek approval from you.
I’m a faithful wife now, wise and tame,
But when late at night I do have insomnia,
It feels good to know: in my yesterday,
On the other side of the globe, you slowly
Take a cigarette out of your cigarette case
On the balcony, with your eyes cast down lowly.
Speaking technically, you even weren t my first
© Copyright: Мария Забавка, 2025
Свидетельство о публикации №125062402457
Свидетельство о публикации №125062402457
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