Peek-A-Boo
You run in and out
Of my simple life,
As though it were a game,
A child’s sport,
A sort of forest where
You can dart among the trees.
Now I see you,
Now I don’t.
Perhaps you will,
Perhaps you won’t.
The phone lies still,
It means your happy somewhere else.
The phone then comes alive again,
It means your tired of the world of men.
You come,
You go,
You flit,
You fly,
You run into my arms,
You lie,
You disappear.
And then I see you,
Standing there,
Playing Peek-A-Boo behind a tree.
Oh No.
No More
This time I score.
