Last night at the bar I saw her
stuck on your arm like a watch
so I drank wine instead of whiskey
as a favor to you both.
Today I parked my car right next to yours,
went inside, did my business and left
and managed not to scratch all my keys
down its length like nails on your chest.
Today again I managed
exactly seven times so far
(and it's early yet) not to call
and say Come Over,
not to send a note that asks
What Does She Have On Me Exactly
Oh look, there goes number eight.
You're welcome. Come over.
I miss you. I want you.
What is it, by the way,
exactly that she's got?