And so it was,
we had put our metaphorical
cat-suits on and left for the night.
We'd always spoken of doing this....you know
...dancing pseudo-seriously, feline-fractured
purrs, pussys, Etc. Etc.
She thought I was all talk.
She thought I lacked "the walk",
vigor, diligence, dirty Sundays, rainbow head-bands and s**t
...s**t like that.
"IIIIIIII don't think so" said I,
opium-tinted goggles, I'd conspired with more than one gaggle of geese in my day,
metaphorically speaking of course.
I admitted that I'm only as handsome as she thought I was.
I admitted to being a "rolling stone".
I admitted that I could love her if she'd only wanted me to.
I'm a machine like that!