Whenever She Wants

May 15 2018

Not knowing how, or whence, or where, or why
my past became my present, you to me,
a paper wrapper, molded to my rye,
I’d offer you a taste, but not for free.
The reading of the charge exacts its price
without conviction. There in lies, the crime
was not that Henny Penny fooled us twice
but couldn’t pull the hat trick off in time.
I miss you, here, in verse between refrains.
Perhaps I’ll out the in to strung guitar,
for right or wrong, for rapture passing pain:
so long, as I cannot tell who you are.
I do not know if you’re the You in me,
but She exclaims the option to be free!

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