Musings by The Poet Loriet
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You don't call tonight because I pointed out demons that were there all along. You didn't see them, and now you want to shoot the messenger. You don't call tonight. You admitted you were avoiding me last night so my pride forbids me from calling you. I won't beg. I bet right now you're wearing a mask of laughter and casual conversation, one that says thehellwithher...I don't need a woman to complicate my life. After the sex and laughter, this is what remains with any woman, my dear... this is what's real. You say you don't like one-night-stands-- they feel empty. We got down to the layer where the heart's exposed, and that's too complicated. That transient feeling, the honeymoon period, is over. Sooner or later, you have to deal with what is real. Separate fact from fantasy. Do I bore you now, darling? Have I become that which must be avoided at all costs? You'll see me again, in the blonde with great legs, in the intelligent redhead whose kisses intoxicate you, in the curly-haired girl that shares your love of golf. I am everywhere, real life, love that goes the distance, woman fallen from favor, fallen from grace. Your bed will be lonely tonight. You will snuggle with no one, just because you think I'm the enemy. It's silly really, we could be together, but you think that you can do better. You think that you don't have to call. I'm not the enemy, baby, just a simple girl looking for a man to believe in. A man who will offer his umbrella when it rains. Lori Beal Vote for this poem
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