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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required How I look back with regret At that summer long ago A sultry sensual summer A time of sexual awakening When I was on the threshold, The blossoming of womanhood And how I curse the time I wasted on you All those hours in your room Listening to your music, Your creative juices at work Your incessant toe tapping And finger clicking To your tuneless efforts Played on the out of tune guitar That accompanied your juvenile Angst ridden ramblings “The music of your soul” Was what you called it God you were pretentious Even for a teenager it was extreme You were self obsessed, Self regarding, self centred Self absorbed, self deluded Egocentric and narcissistic In fact if the word “Narcissism” hadn’t existed They would have had to Invent it just for you If only you had realised I wanted to make music with you Raw unscripted passionate music An ardent duet, Fervently reprised I had creative juices I had creative juices to spare I had a song of teenage want About a frustrated nymphet In lust with a pretentious musician Who would rather finger his fret!! Well I had urges And I was left unsatisfied By your excruciating folk And your mournful dirges, You called me your muse Like I should be flattered I didn’t want to be your muse I wanted to be your groupie I panted at you in desire I dressed provocatively I hinted at my lusty inclinations I suggested you play my body Like an instrument But the sexual connotation, Like everything else, was lost on you And I remained unsullied That sultry sensual summer long ago
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