| |
I can’t help it
if you look great
and I don’t.
It’s not my doing.
(Well, let’s not talk about
my bad karma from
using women in past lives.)
I can’t help it
if my outright leering at you
is more disgusting to you
than a lesser man’s
simply asking you out.
(Okay, I guess
I can help the leering.)
But, I can’t help it
if all I want to do
is roll on the ground
and wrestle with you
(and I’m not talking
about sex here) .
And I can’t help
the ache inside,
the ache of longing,
the ache of emptiness,
upon seeing a beautiful face
in front of an adorable brain…
WAIT A MINUTE!
Are you suggesting
I look within,
cultivate my mind,
my heart,
my inner self,
develop some sense of
connection,
of humanness,
of compassion?
Well, I guess I could do that.
That or you go out with me –
wanna wrestle for it?
Marc Mannheimer
|
|
User Rating: |
|
--
/10
(0 votes) |
|
|
|
E-mail this poem to e friend