Can I sneak past those subtle, sullen eyes
She wears while waiting just inside her door?
She is, and yet she isn’t quite, a whore.
She is, and yet she isn’t quite, my prize.
But if I wait for darkness she’ll despise
My cowardice, though I’ll despise it more,
Because I’ve got to capture her before
Her passion’s heat becomes a cool demise.
And so I steal behind her house and wait
Until my heart stops pounding so damn fast.
Although she’s bound to smell me, not to hear
My pulse, my breath—She’s standing there like bait!
With reckless haste I rush inside at last,
Surprised that I am suddenly so near.

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