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.)
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