Tell me something I don’t know.
Tell me that you love me, and maybe
Just maybe, I’ll believe you.
Marry me a little – oh, I’d marry you
A whole lot more than just a little
If you’d let me.
I’ve been too late since birth:
It’s a chronic disease.
Too late for pageants
Too late for sports
Too late for love
And too late for you.
(That last is what sticks most.)
High-octane dame on a two-bit cylinder
You’ll crash and burn, they say.
Well I crashed into you long ago
And I’m still burning.
You had me at Prufrock’s table
You, and those sharp grey eyes.
(I’m denying all this if you see it.)