The mistress dressed in vintage, kept him hooked-each time was different.
Her figure blinded his eyes, but fit so well; double 20 vision.
So his mind escaped with time and left the one that he was with quick.
Called her on the side, whispered "Love, can we speak for a minute?"
So he went on "Baby your curves are like lightning, I think I need a medic, your words are so enticing,"
His conscience whispered to his mind "Maybe I should end it?"
but his actions repeated time after time, a habit he perfected.
Lustful dreams invaded his core; confused he reckoned "but what about my amor?"
Clueless and naive to the intuitive scenes she would dream, she brushed them aside concluding "no, he's with me."
He loved her, that was not even a question; but his confusion made him lose it, always feeling tempted.
playing in his mind "I've been thinking bout, I've been thinking bout, I've been thinking bout you lately. Thoughts take me to when we were close; addicted to this (lust) feel I need another dose."
So he indulged, never been the same ever since.
An addict leaving the habit reacts so weird when he has to rehab it'
He stopped, but what happens when he sees the poison?
"This girl is cocaine to the brain,"
tempted he's on the verge of going "Cobain"
But he caught himself and saw what he was doing;
feeding his soul; he killed his half with his pursuings'
He figured love is of the essence, lust is temporary presence,
Miss Vintage is always gone, so an encounter is a refreshment;
But amor is the air with the occasional breeze,
taken for granted but it's all he really needs.
So he came back from his walk, to the picnic on the moon,
The embrace of his amor saying "I knew you'd be back soon."
And he felt; this is too special to lose.
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