May

She's tired of waiting
Her favor is waning
Whenever he holds her hand
She looks away
He wants to take her to a special land
Where the trees are all blooming and
The stars are always out, even during the day

With pursed lips she's waiting
For him to grow up
How funny that he's decades ahead
While she still sleeps in a bed
With a night light
And a teddy
But that's how he wants it
It's all played out in his head

Whenever they're out, the people ask questions
He says she's just kin
But what they do and how they do it
If it were true
Oh, it'd be a sin
He laughs and he grumbles
He thinks they don't have a clue

She's tired of him
And the words that he whispers
Trite and overused, he thinks he's a poet
Makes sure that she knows it
Oh, what a lovely rhyme
He hands her hand-written prose on napkins
Tells her to read them when she can
Crumpled at the bottom of her waste basket
Lies the heart of a naive man

A/N -
Rhyming is off, I know, but I wrote this as it came to me. No need to be perfect.