She asked him…

She asked him, “Tell me,
What is it men want?
Is it, I think,
A lot to do with sex?

Or is there something more
I ought to know?
The more I try, the more
I’m getting vexed.

Is it my bangs,
The way I do my hair?
Is there a thing about me
I should switch?

I’ll bet it’s me.
I bet I’m way too nice.
You probably think I
Ought to be a bitch.

For men like evil women –
So it seems -”
He stopped her at this moment.
And he said,

“There’s nothing wrong with you.
There never was.
Men dream of girls like you –
I have, I know.

To see your red hair
Free, and tumbling down.
To set your passion loose,
And let it flow…

The truth is simple:
Timing. Nothing more.
The guys that you have liked
Just aren’t right.

But they were who was there,
And what you felt;
Guys are not all the same
In fact. In spite

Of what you may have heard -”
She cut him off:
“Wait just a second,”
She said, forcefully,

“We have been friends for years,
You never said
That you had ever had dreams
About me.”

He looked her in the eyes,
And, measured, said,
“I’ve loved you, now,
For almost seven years.

Accepting that
You do not look at me
The same way I do you.”
And there were tears

In her green eyes as she
Look towards the floor —
“I can’t believe it,”
She said,
“Tell me more …”

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