Perhaps Poem by James Enoch

You can push her, you can shove her,
but don't expect anything of her.
For she is like no other,
not quite the perfect lover,
so then why do I love her?

Not for what's in her figure.
Certainly not how she cooks dinner.
Not for her heart, for mine is much bigger.
Not for the chills she can deliver.
Perhaps it's 'cause she's wild like the river.

Perhaps it's the shape of her nose,
or how she gets me high, or takes me low.
From her fingers to her toes,
the reasons...I don't know,
but she certainly can glow.

She knows how I tock and she knows how I tick.
In her heart I have no spot, for i'm not whom she picks.
She knows I will stop, she knows I will sit.

I've been waiting here forever,
I watch the rust form on the gate.

I've been waiting here forever,
perhaps, she's just late.