This repeating history
is nothing new, certainly –
I've caught your eye, it seems,
and you're featured in my dreams –
so why not act casual?
Or fake it, as usual.
While you were out with some friend
(measuring her plunge and trend),
I wrote poetry and sang.
If we start at the Big Bang
and continue up to now
(with no luxury of how),
do you think that we could see
God, laughing at you and me?
I play your fool, just this once,
with my acting nonchalance,
but, whose lips, I'm wondering,
now sigh, with your sundering?
But, let me not think on't –
words of wisdom, O Hamlet –
frailty is not this girl
when shucked for some other pearl.
This is something you should know:
I quite adore you… although
my better judgment, lacking
a more objective backing,
is easily beguiled.
I simply haven't smiled
with a heart that's free of doubt
with you – should I go without?
We'll see. If you prove to me
that faux is this litany
with persuasion of a kiss,
then, my dear, you've hit and missed.
But if you offer reason
which points to untrue treason,
the ambiguity stands
to meet with condoning hands.
Your probation starts tonight –
it's your task to set things right;
the direction is all yours.
And what happiness ignores –
the faults into corners swept –
are those warnings better kept.
So, I'll put this thought on hold
of frivolities untold
until you tell me after,
"it's you and me" – cue laughter.