This dude had me on some Pavlovian ride, talkin’ ’bout everytime he ring the bell I spring to attention,
batting my eyelashes and flipping my hair.
His hot and cold had me down with the flu on an almost weekly basis
And I know I told him I don’t like games,
but he had me playing round after round of Stratego,
and six sunken battleships later I am still playing!
… wait, six?? damn, I think that last hit might have been on my self esteem…

He talked me into a daze,
talked circles around me,
rings of smoke that had me euphoric,
the world topsy turvy andI didn’t know which way was up,
but somehow he always ended up on top.
Convoluted sentences full of innuendo, double entendres and hidden agendas had me second guessing my own command of the English language
…. or was it Arabic we were speaking?
I came up with more “possible scenarios” than a government think tank as my mind tried to find reason within the madness…

Eight sleepless nights later and I finally decided to take my mother’s advice.
See, Mama taught me not to cry over spilled milk, and I took it two steps further by
letting said milk sit and fester in the heat of my rage till it curdled and separated, creating a necessary rift between me and it.

It, of course, being him.

He had no idea what he was up against.
A smile from me could light up a city,
and I don’t cause scenes, I don’t slash tires,
but my looks could pierce through the man of steel himself.

Talk is cheap, and silence is golden, but my treatment would leave the richest soul penniless.

So forget him, ’cause he wasn’t even that fyne anyway!

originally written September 2010.

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