Cat eyes sleep and brows that are coal and neatly bush
Those firewood iris... they're all in favor of you.
White like paper is your skin and rosy thin lined for kissing,
Talk in note, spike and groove...
I admire you but they fill me in, always.
Why can't I be like you? It's always you!
I'm sorry, I didn't mean to. You did nothing wrong but I still think you are.
Why does it always have to be you?
When will it always to be me?
