creativeIt doesn't matter how we met, or who you are, or what,
Come join me in a game, the stakes are everything you've got.
The only scores will be the ones I leave across your skin,
But please don't think you mean a thing to me.
I'll talk to you and smile at you and laugh with you and play,
And when you think you've worked it out I'll up and run away;
I'll tease you and undress you, and I'll hold you and caress you,
But please don't think you're anything to me.
It might take others years to stick a dagger in your back,
To beat you and to slap you and to leave your body black,
But I can do it just as soon as look at you, my dear -
For, after all, you mean nothing to me.
It isn't that I like you, and it isn't that I care,
It isn't tenderness that makes me softly stroke your hair,
Oh, you should know I leave my heart up on a shelf at home,
Like everything that means something to me.
If this seems kind of sudden, that's perceptive, and it's true,
But you look kind of fun, to give the credit where it's due.
Believe me, though, when I say I get all of this elsewhere,
From someone who means everything to me.
And sometimes in the night when I am laughing at your fear,
And thinking how much better it would be if you were here,
I do have to remind myself that whatever you do,
You really could not mean a thing to me.
But in the normal course of life, and in this little game,
I must confess I am hard pressed just to recall your name.
So kindly pack your feelings up and go, for your own good.
And mine. Before you mean something to me.
What do you think?
(And yes, I know, don't say you didn't warn me.)
E.
x
