Gold and Brass

Southern girl, I guess I’m asking for trouble, falling for you.
The blonde hair with black roots and that laughing drawl.
The sweetness and the sass and the heart of gold and brass.
The love for the forests and the wilds and your great god’s world.
 Passing time at a breasturant, drinking beer, watching a game.
You’re my favorite server, always so sweet, with that edge of desire.
I live cloistered indoors and am only reverent of the wilds in verse
and I am not what you want, can never be what you so greatly love.
 South of Mason Dixon I was born, but I was a changeling, a fae, a misfit.
More Woody Allen or Neil Gaiman than Bocephus or Ronnie Van Zant.
But your beauty and your brass heart rings bright in my heart and dreams.
I always fall for what will slip through my fingers, like a siren calling a ship.
 You hug me goodbye, and I relish the feel of you close, you holding me tight.
And I ask when you work again, and I know I’ll be here again to see you then.
Don’t be it, just dream. I should just dream of you and let it all stay perfect there.
The night is here, and there is some Cure song perfect for how I feel, as i drive home.

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