I wonder if she, in reality, is two people, one for each name. Maybe I met them both, the one in the black dress, the one in the flowers. I wonder which one loved me, if either of them did, this English girl. In all the ways, she said yes. She let me kiss her of course, with regular frequency before the very end, before she left me for good on the metro. But I didn't see her look back. She didn't watch me off, no, she turned away. It was quick, with a rush of wild blonde and blue eyes turning quickly gray. The wild flowers of her dress blurred at the squint of mine as the train pulled away. I'd be her's, the both of her, always.
She'd be my favorite
song if she took me
as her own.
I'm the kind of man that can throw all of me into her, easily. And I shall. It's the best thing I could possibly do, truly. She's true beauty, body and soul, and in her smiling whisper comes the waves of adoration, undulation, admiration.
I'm always impressed by a girl from the Isle with a love of hard drink. It's the curse of me, among more sporting things.
