I'm in love today but tomorrow I'll change my mind.

He brought a package to my doorstep: petals and such arrayed underneath, labeled with black ink.

"Love Charley"

I don't love Charley and I doubt he loves me-rather my waitress apron and how it sways when I walk. I'd like to marry the fellow across the street who finds life in everything: tending to his lilies as if they were babies and caressing that dragon fly instead of making 6 figure incomes.  I know he's capable of such, I've talked, rather listened, about the rotation pattern of a non-existant bean-how when placed on a slope he can calculate its exact landing point and such.

I don't want a boring man mother, nor do I want to be boring.

If I could wander anywhere--it would be to the depths of that grotesque brown beard of his.

But he doesn't love me either and never will because I misuse my name: raven hair.  I've gone blonde and foggy.