These words bounce around inside my skull,
With thoughts that drain me, mind full.
And the message on the back of my eyelids,
Reads backwards and forwards an apology in mad libs.
But it's not what you want or care to hear.
It's the curves and dips of my body near,
With soft songs and soft words to nurse your ears,
And hands to hold for many years.
I promise I'll be around,
To tip-toe on the hardwood ground,
Into your room without a sound,
And smile in the dark at our silly antics,
Lips against your body's nicks,
To kiss away a thought that sticks.
I want what you want in life,
And if that means being your faithful wife,
Then count me in.
And if that means watching you go with strife,
Then count me out.
Either way I'll be your spider,
Climbing right back up your spout.
You can tip me over,
But I won't pour out.
And whether you want me or not,
I'll still be around,
To twist onto your finger, wound.