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First Installment
You're new and I don't know what to do with you.
Sometimes things just fall into place,
Belgin lace, stitched with gentle grace,
but not you, you're still a little hard to trace.
Sometimes you offer up your soul, but I don't know.
I think what a waste, all this haste,
devouring everything on your plate...
without savoring the taste.
Before I hang my hopes inside your closet,
I need reassurance that your door swings both ways.
No need to be cloaked in a haze,
wandering through your maze, might be just a phase.
I don't require need. Just desire stokes my fire.
Combustion born of familiarity.
Do you covet me, or my mystery?
We shall see, we shall see...
