There is a man
Who sits outside the corner shop
With a cigarette
Every day from noon to one
And he watches the woman
Who sits across the road
And I think that
Maybe
He ponders what she would feel like
Beneath his skin.

There is a woman
Who sits with a guitar
Every day
Beneath the shade of a tree in the park
And plays for the amusement
Of the people who pass
And I think that
She doesn’t notice the man
Who watches her
Like a spider cornering a fly.

There is a spider
Who watches a butterfly
And wonders how delicious she could taste
If only he could entrap her in his web.

There is a butterfly
Who lives for the sun and the grass
And hopes she can have one more day
Where the spider doesn’t stare at her.

There is a man who
Reminds me of a spider
Who stares down his prey
And wishes he could touch her.

There is a woman
Who reminds me of a butterfly
And with that thought
I think that, most times,
Beautiful things don’t live very long.

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