He'd like to say, if he could get a word in edgewise, when she gets her way, she's a deathly, deadly, delicate dynamite.
He'd never say this, but she's armed and dangerous. That love's contagious but she shook him off baby.
He saw the signs of a broken brake line. But her promise like wine, his drunken mind hit the gas into sunshine.
Her ambivalence is abhorrent. Growing it's malignant. And he's sees it, but he needs it, and he'd... Ugh
Her love's like a razor blade hidden in a sugarcane. Blowing you a kiss from the safety of a window pane. Drawn like a moth to flame you Burn. You're the third today. Ew!
She's thorny like a rose. Come morning, her repose, the creature in her clothes knows nothing of previous oaths. He wants to tell her so, like a thousand times before, but knows her that she'll go, to never find herself deposed.