The better you make it sound
The less I believe you.
An important date blinds my vision
As I try to wriggle out of the
Showcase of your latest neice.
I come for the coffee and not
I swill the mug as I swill your
Words without a second brain signal.
You promise me that it is worth it,
And the more I doubt it.
Your red buffont makes me want to wretch,
As the hairspray suffocates me.
The talk of the neighbour's sex lives
Leaves me dry and shrivelled
And my skin becomes paper.
I would ask you how you are but you have
Already told me.
The red nail varnish of this socialite
Is chipped, covered by a mist of
Charlie and Chanel.
I make an excuse to leave and
Think about the happiness of the clouds.