Kiss of the fairy on your brow,
Kiss of the temptress on your chin.
Sigh of the devil, mark of the beast;
Precious love, the fairy can read your lies.
You appeal to her innocence – pray she won’t see;
But that was your mistake – and she won’t pay the price.
Poor fairy, see what you’ve done?
Or maybe you can’t – hardened by your foolish pride.
Her youth and innocence you wanted to taint;
But laugh at her now, she’s lost all she had.
You’ve hurt the fairy, you’ve broken her heart;
But what more could be expected, sweet fairy let you in her soul.
When did you quit loving, when would you set her free?
Had you planned on keeping her on a string – a last resort when the other could not be found?
Or had you planned, said you’d play it by ear,
But now my precious, come to grips with fairy’s fear.
Goodbye sweet fairy, don’t kiss her away,
But turn to the other, and hope that she’ll stay.
Strangely, this incomprehensible gibberish outlines pretty much all of my relationships up until I got married. I invested in the wrong guy, got played, and wrote bad poetry about it. I even remember the guy this poem was about and who he pretended like he wasn't sleeping with while we were dating. He lived on Lowell Street, in Louisville. Part of me wonders what happened to him, but most of me never thinks of him at all.
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