I am a fool for you. 
Champagne smile and long limbs. 
I twiddle my thumbs and wait by the phone, blushing in plaid school girl skirts. 
A giddy girl, swirling in the palm of your hand. 
I am a fool for you. 
She is a fool for you.  

You are riddled in my notebooks, lingering in the stripes of my brain. 
Silly, moronic and blindly gripping at straws along the bread path of your divinity. 
Tickled by thoughts of your breath mingling in X's and O's on my tongue.  

We were never good, 
Bloated water and lumpy cornstarch in a mug milky to the eye but dense to the touch. 
I am a fool for you, a direct product of the lives I've lived on your chest. 

She is good. I can convince myself of that when I stare at your lips and watch your eyes gush her name. 
She is a good fool. An obedient one, who doesn't beg for more and twist in your veins. 

I am a fool for you, and you are a sage blowing me up into the charm of your toothy grin. 
I am a fool for you, but I know what she does not. 

I know your tequila grips and swirling tongue, 
Snarl and venom trapped beneath tight muscles and quick wit. 

Despite the wolf she's yet to meet, 
I watch you sheepishly tie her up into your lullabies, and your beautiful ability to make the world exist between two people. 

She is good. She hates it when I call and it's late. 

I am a fool for you, waiting in vain by my notebooks and daydreams. Clicking my heels at the thought of the 
Godly way you form sentences. Even when they are about how she is a doe-eyed raven. 

I will keep you at arm's length, 
Chalk you up in my diary. 
Make you an untouchable deity, but when that songs comes on I know you think of me. 
And even if she is in white, swaying in the rings of your arms, 
I know I am there, stubbornly leaking into your mind. Making you a fool, embarrassed. Pink and plaid, 
Like you make me.  

She is good. And I am a fool. 

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