How I look back with regret
At
that summer long ago
A
sultry sensual summer
A
time of sexual awakening
When
I was on the threshold,
The
blossoming of womanhood
And
how I curse the time
I
wasted on you
All
those hours in your room
Listening
to your music,
Your
creative juices at work
Your
incessant toe tapping
And
finger clicking
To
your tuneless efforts
Played
on the out of tune guitar
That accompanied your juvenile
Angst ridden ramblings
“The
music of your soul”
Was
what you called it
God
you were pretentious
Even
for a teenager it was extreme
You
were self obsessed,
Self
regarding, self centred
Self
absorbed, self deluded
Egocentric
and narcissistic
In
fact if the word
“Narcissism”
hadn’t existed
They
would have had to
Invent
it just for you
If
only you had realized
I
wanted to make music with you
Raw
unscripted passionate music
An
ardent duet,
Fervently
reprised
I
had creative juices
I
had creative juices to spare
I
had a song of teenage want
About
a frustrated nymphet
In
lust with a pretentious musician
Who
would rather finger his fret!!
Well,
I had urges
And
I was left unsatisfied
By
your excruciating folk
And
your mournful dirges,
You
called me your muse
Like
I should be flattered
I
didn’t want to be your muse
I
wanted to be your groupie
I
panted at you in desire
I
dressed provocatively
I
hinted at my lusty inclinations
I
suggested you play my body
Like
an instrument
But
the sexual connotation,
Like
everything else, was lost on you
And
I remained unsullied
That
sultry sensual summer long ago
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