Her tellin’ of, ‘baby, baby, it’s a wild world’
Seemed more akin to urban myth…
Almost like a shoe built for just me.
A shoe that does not quite fit.
She had been my first…
But by the hungry look in her eyes…I hadn’t been hers.
Neither of us looking for a white wedding.
Yet, to this day, none compare to the way she could…
hum and sing.
Painted on hot pink nails and ravenous smile,
I became just a babe in the woods…
Caught in the snare of all it’s wild.
While traveling around the edges of my nowadays…beaten down path.
In-spite of age, she comes back to me…
Cutting the moments in half.
Deep with in the thick set of trees.
In just particular tucked away spot.
Her aroma of Poison and Henna begs of me…
Pleads of me,
‘Hold on sweet talkin’ woman…