Single out and follow the clicks of my high heel boots,
a glimpse of androgynous chic among the crowd.
Catch me by the elbow, but I’m going to need
you to stand at the end of arm’s length, where the palm rests
on your shoulder to balance the surprise.
I don’t mind your company; just your interpretation.
Sure, walk with me, but hurry while I’m late.
“Get under my umbrella–don’t you feel the warning?”
Wrapping a silk scarf around my neck adds spice to a blank outfit;
that’s you when we chat and you smile under the shower until,
Well, this is my stop. Parting words,
but imagine we match like the missing shoe I found this morning.
A tweed blazer attracts no one, even with a mini skirt–except
people watchers and you, because even you said
you’re kind of hard-headed. It explains the umpteenth time
you’ll conjure some sultry episode even if I say I’m not wired
for hook-ups or, honestly, any heavy rhythm against another.
I’m thinking, because I care, that you should
say good-bye. Just be gentle.
You’re still gonna call back and open doors for me tomorrow.
You don’t budge.
So, what to do with you when you decide to go off script?