A conundrum, it has always been.
Off on the wrong foot,
or the rug from under my feet did you tug when asked for my hand?
A medley of both perhaps,
I would wind up right side up, so I thought
Never was I in your wheelhouse,
yet well played into the tantalization of it all
and laid it on thick, you did
merely a front
and all your eros, marginal at best
bang, bang
unfilled, empty-bellied and fruitless.

Temple of Solomon, we were not
an ongoing conflict
unrest and foreboding, always justified and always present
King of pain you will remain.

No longer my story,
no longer on the wrong foot I stand.
Dancing on both through the sign of Leo
Lady of heaven I embrace
What grievances?
Back to my brighter, lighter pace
and into the Mediterranean coast I flow.