In more ways than one.
I stand here in the night,
Waiting for that light.
That effervescent, unavoidable feeling,
That would explain this clear ceiling.
That’s been wheeling, stealing, taking all my feelings.
I’ve spent too much time kneeling.
My thoughts are jumbled.
I don’t know what to feel.
I want to say more,
But I’m not sure.
If I stay, I might become a bore.
I’d rather not be mentally sore.
No, I’d rather feel like folklore.
Unattainable, with a touch of womanly intrigue and lure.