Even fools can find patterns, if heaven
Shows mercy, and Providence, for my sins
Was kind enough to drop you in my way,
You angel cake crumb! Your halo dangling
A bit tarnished, in one hand, and not so
Inconspicuously swinging out of
Sight, behind your back, as if you believed
It were made to tap absentmindedly
Against your bottom, in fact?
Yeah, I wonder about that.
But you just grin and bite your bottom-lip
So invitingly, while you stand beside
Of me, as if it were into submission
And your mouth were a mistress decked in pearls,
It’s hard to hold anything against you
Except-- I’d like to hold you against me.
And no, we won’t argue about Britney,
I’m not into confessions, though I think
You could share quite a tale,
Whether of heaven or hell.
Not that I profess innocence: we’ve sinned,
All of us. But you fit your skinny jeans
Like they were painted on, and I know I
Read, just last Wednesday, somewhere in Second
Thessalonians, while I was waiting
To get my Brazilian, that that’s a real
Bad sign. Something against the law divine.
Just the same, it’s only Christian to ask:
Would you mind sharing a scone
Since you came here all alone?
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