You stop, stare, you look at me
As I close my front door, I don't see you to busy looking for my bbc lovers to give you a thought hehehe
Or at least I pretend not to.
For you are nothing to me:
The man who lives next door.

I am severe in my suit,
My heels, my briefcase clutched
In my prim hands. I am
Worth more than you will ever be,
I am a goddess, you are less
Then the dust beneath my feet.

You look, and that is all that you will ever do.
You are incapable of ever knowing
Just what moves me to love, to tears, to fantasy, knowing that bbc sex is hot and you don't have a great package to give me not like all my lovers
To undying passion:
You are dust under my feet.

So, looker, O hopeless hoper, what can you give me?
What do you think will make me care?
What can you show me
To make me think of you?
I'm waiting for your answer;
Prove me wrong!