And so the weeks have passed through my lonely body,
Bringing me to this clearing - stripped of naivety,
I wonder around looking for fruit but none is ripe,
Then I stop dead as I spot the Black Beetle, Nicky.
She dances with a scorpion that stung me recently,
(I have since seen the games that this scorpion plays,
The venom is harmless to one who knows her ways)
So I scurry to Nicky, avoiding her bewitching eyes,
And am informed that the Otter swims nearby -
When I know this it's only a moment before I find her -
I paddle into her path waiting for her to see me and,
For me to see her reaction, which is a flippant hug,
And she is gone, and I am lost for an empty instant...
And she is lost for good.
After a little while I am with my friend, the Giant,
He leans forward; I tiptoe; we talk of female attire,
My eyes though are elsewhere, and the Otter knows it.
Unexpectedly she moves through the clubbers to join us,
Wearing a transparent innocence she merely requires,
A light for her cigarette that I will give on condition:
A kiss for old times' sake - her lips briefly touch my cheek bone.
She gets her light as our eyes lock momentarily to
Dislodge just as easily - her eyes hold no more fire for me.
Away she returns to her friends and I leave the giant,
Here and there I take a chance but am doomed to failure,
With my blatant desperation shining dully in my plunder,
Various reactions of refusal and counter-attack come back,
For my disrespectful attempts and aura of insincerity.
And yet I refuse to be beaten (as I continue to lose the struggle).
Later, by the bogs, being politely turned down,
I feel a short whip of guilt when the Otter sleeks by but,
My feet take me on her tail to get me a final feel of,
That female waist; to chat with a fellow philanderer -
Ah, the girl who loved and left me to die, I smile,
To which she reminds me of the woman from a moment before.
Oh, I know her, I lie too quickly to consider the truth,
To which she calls me a liar from her platform of power.
And how many men have you scored since we last met? I return,
She raises four digits, hiding her pride in nonchalance...
That's not very good, I say, (her nature is then displayed),
I meant she could have had more. I meant she could have done better......
One finger makes a stab when she accuses me
Of snogging her babe (the Fox called Sally).
I was forced! is my plea, but I'm already acquitted...
Too much mind stood in the way of physical contact, and so,
With no danger of connection yet with a lingering affinity, we smiled.