Parsley

You're not in love, you're sort of in like.

A fact I'm so good at denying.

It hurts to know that if I'm for sale

You're juts looking but not really buying.

Your heart won't budge.

It's stuck in neutral.

Spinning your wheels in one space.

But I feel so good lying next to you

Even though I'm just taking up space.

You're a treasure, a home run, seven rooms with a view.

You're a full moon, a day off, the perfect shade of blue.

I'm a nuissance, a gnat, a phonecall that can wait.

I'm a speck, a dot, the parsley on your plate.

You say "come here" then you push me away.

It's not wonder I'm slightly confused.

Your love is a truck that backs over me

And I'm left feeling beaten and bruised.

We go on dates, you watch the clock.

I'm aware that you're just killing time.

In the capucchino of your life, I'm afraid I'm just a twist of lime.

You're a spring breeze, a peach pie, perfect penmanship.

You're seventy-five with low humidity, you're mocha almond chip.

I'm cliffnotes, a hangnail, misplacing twenty bucks.

I'm a fake fat cheese, a case of acid reflux.

You're a limo, clean laundry, the smell of a brand new car.

Home cooking, a Picasso, a party with an open bar.

I'm a kleenex, an addendum, or a word that you always mispell.

I'm a fork at a Chinese restaurant, a packet of silicon gel.

Days go by, no end in sight.

I've little or no self esteem.

But still sometimes when I'm all alone

I sit on the sofa and dream

That one day if I'm patient,

Somebody will make me feel

Like I'm more than parsley on their plate.

I'm an incredible seven-course meal.