She moans and groans for a love soft and warm
She whispers to me at night, "What a delight."
Yet she wakes to my ever loving thoughts
Never more, she rejects my love for her
Yet again she whimpers for another.
No not me unfortunately, some other.
Someone there to comfort themselves in her breast.
Yet again not I.
She then cries through the night about a hopeless romantic that she wishes would sweep her off her feet.
Even though we both know its me.
We're to good of friends she says
Even though we lack conversation in that area.
Why not I upon these summer days?
How is it your eyes so blind but your hearing not so deaf?
As usual though, I will awake upon these summer days just to listen to her moan about yet another but not so as I.
