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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