Whose Site

You had good bones
Such good bones, boy

It’s that thought that found me
When you found me, boy

So I let you stay a while, sit a spell
Set a spell on me, boy

Marksman, Sharpshooter, Expert
Shoot, boy

You took aim
You took me, boy

Set your sights
But whose site is this anyway, boy

That needy, narcissistic arrow
Was not the way I needed you, boy

Aim

When she opined
I laughed
Thinking she’d learn she was wrong
In due time
She’d find her heart’s desire
Actualized after all

Now her recant
I hear it
Arriving soon from some distance
But this time
I’ll find her prophesied words
Unmistakably meant for me