you don't love me
You don't love me and don't feel compassion, don't you think that now I look my best? Though you look aside you're thrilled with passion as you put your arms upon my chest. You are young, so sensitive and zealous, I am neither bad nor very good to you. Tell me, did you pet a lot of fellows? You remember many arms and lips? You do? They are gone and haven't touched you any, gone like shadows, leaving you aflame. You have sat upon the laps of many, you are sitting now on mine, without shame. Though your eyes are closed, and you are rather thinking of some one you really trust, after all, I do not love you either, I am lost in thought about my dear past. Don't you call this zeal predestination, hasty tie is thoughtless and no good, like I set up this unplanned connection, I will smile when leaving you for good. You will go the pathway of your own just to have your days unwisely spent, don't approach the ones not fully grown, don't entice the ones that never burnt. When you walk with someone down the alley chatting merrily about love and all maybe, I'll be out, walking round shyly, and again, by chance, I'll meet you, poor soul. Squaring shoulders, ravishing and winning, bending slightly forward, with an air kiss, you will utter quietly: Good evening! And I will reply: Good evening, miss. Nothing will disturb my heart and spirit, nothing will perturb me giving pain, he who's been in love will not retrieve it, he who's burnt will not be lit again.