Drop a pin to the floor, my darling,
See if you can hear its point..
Because I know you're not hearing mine..
But you should always listen to something, right?

Oh, I know what you listen to..
Your name in her mouth,
Pouring out from those cherry coated lips.
The kind of cherry on your shirt collar, right?

Please, oh please-
Drop this color..
It's just not you;
It doesn't match your eyes.

But your craving?

The traces of your gentle kiss,
Paving in her inner thigh,
Making its mark
For her other whores to gaze upon.

Does that match at all?

Does that trail set your point,
Making it clear that she's yours
And only yours?

Oh, but that's not what she moans..
Other names pour out from her mouth,
Other wives smell her perfume,
Other collars have her mark.

Sweetheart, you'll never be her designer shirt;
The cloth that always comes off.
You'll never be her only bobby bin;
Her millionth thing to stick in.

So go ahead
And drop the pin, my darling..
For my cry,
Your point,
And her moan.
 
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