It is when I am alone, my mind draws alongside
you, thirty-one days, of sunshine and holidays,
of love on the beach, of holding hands in walks,
of long-looking looks, of what you find in Harlequin
romances, but it is true, in this vile world of takes,
I take this, you take that, you stand there I take you,
we in love, can only give, and that is the opening
gamit of the metrosexual, the softer and fem side,
I think at bottom line, at the base, it is just sex,
which directs us, even our charity and loyalty,
it governs our life, its what makes us a Paladin,
which might be today, a shorn headed tattooed bastard
with a golden heart, loves his mother and home cooking,
but also has options in what's shaking, and modern art,
I am afraid, when I draw alongside you my month
you will leave me for August, the Caesar, or go gay
and think of May, but this is untrue, all fictional
it is not the month that leaves me, how can 31 days
leave, it is an abstract of Time, no it is you my love,
You in the month of July, made up your mind to end
So to live a life alongside another, or maybe worse,
to live alone - why is it, I love you in total denial?
Of all the evidence in front of me, we did not make love
on the beach, nor look longingly into each others eyes.
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