My Guy

My guy doesn't notice,

I don't think my guy even sees,

How happy we could be:

Him and me.

 

If, smiling, I would pass a pencil,

A smile and 'thanks' receive from him,

But no hunger in his eyes I see,

For my eyes only relate the lust inside.

 

Shakespeare said,

'Music is the food of love',

And Music we have plenty,

Yet love my man does not.

 

And so, starved of love I am again,

And tears of fear

And tiredness show:

Devotion takes its hold so slow.

 

Passion may be a dreadful thing;

For crimes of passion I have seen,

Yet passion is what surrounds my heart,

And extends its deadly hand.

 

Like a beacon or a way forward,

I cry to touch those piercing fingers.

As true physical hands

Are never there to draw me away.

 

My guy doesn't notice,

I don't think my guy even sees:

The danger he has put me in,

A lost love for all eternity.

The End

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