She looked my way, then smiled and waved.
The perfect blonde - less half my age,
I was entraped - she so behaved.
She encroached my space as waves on a shore
Until my mind was mine no more,
That she very quickly saw.
My leisure time she re-shaped,
My image subjected to re-make
And what was left - hers to take?
To move in circles she adored
Designer clothes came to the fore
With baubles, tattoos and caps galore.
Life on the spend became her bent
Showing off where'er we went
My enslavement slowly being spent.
She went one day - the end became,
And all I have, that now remains -
My tattood chest bearing her name.
Intrigued as to from whom's perspective... male or female. Nice... Rick
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Yep! People can take you 'over' sometimes, without you realising it. Good read. Sincerely Ernestine Northover