A lovesong. Didn’t I do well.

Well, that’s that.

I guess I can’t complain.

I knew it was going nowhere,

but it’s shitty all the same.

I never saw this coming,

why should I feel so sore?

You were just a fun distraction,

too messed up for anything more.

 

Anyway, why waste time

dwelling on the inconstancy of man?

This certainly wouldn’t be the first rhyme

to rage on a romantic sham.

 

That’s the only reason

I let you in that second night;

not because your sexual charm

was too irresistible to fight.

But with every further motive

you gave me to run away,

I discovered that getting to know you

only made me want to stay.

 

So tell me, why waste time

dwelling on the inconstancy of man?

This certainly wouldn’t be the first rhyme

to rage on a romantic sham.

 

Perhaps it was your honesty

about who you were that did it.

Or maybe even that was false

and oh, how well you hid it?

Hands and kisses and music and talk,

declarations and plans

turned into silence just like that,

not even you understand.

 

Anyway, why waste time

dwelling on the inconstancy of man?

This certainly wouldn’t be the first rhyme

to rage on a romantic sham.

Something like a Tracy Chapman Song

What can I offer you?

You share your song with whoever shows up,

eight births and a caesarean,

9 chunks of you chucked at whoever checks like,

I wait all week and then some more,

– fumbling, floundering through the days, distracted –

to have just three of your nine lives just for me.

De que cantas? Me da igual. Entiendo el sentimiento y lo tengo para mi.

I want to teach you, but I don’t have the words.

I want to dance with you, but I don’t have the courage.

I take, take, take your music and your energy.

You give me your all, you bare your soul.

Is my quiet company enough for you?

It must be. It must be.