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
realised
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
No comments:
Post a Comment