When my imagination begins to paint,
His face is not the first to taint
My mind. Oh, but the restraint
His eyes have upon my quaint
ability to create. I\'d acquaint
Myself with the hansom saint
And drown in the puddles then feint
My way out.
When my body begins to flow,
His thrusts are not the first to blow
in and out. Oh, but the glow
on his face: thinking about my show
of affection. And although
A part of me wants to know,
I\'d never search.
I\'ve had my pick in a man or two
Because they\'re all better than you
Are made to be. I don\'t want a clue,
Or a suggestion, or a new
found feeling between us both. It\'s true.
I just want to live on without who
I think you might be to me. If we...
were an us.
We\'re not though.
You\'re you and I\'m me and that\'s all
We\'ve ever been.
You\'re my best friend,
I\'m sorry to even be thinking about this.