Borderline Love Lyric 3 

I'm sorry but I just don't like you in that way.
Yes, I know you'd work like a Pole, 
mortgage your soul,
shovel shit in cold bitter 
as a Borderline Love Lyric
for me and my baby girl.
I know you'd keep the vampires from the door,
man up to the big bad wolf,
fling yourself full square
into the fangful furnace of a dragon
to buy my baby girl and I precious seconds.
I know you'd be our sacrificial 
human bridge on a sinking ship, 
subdue your sweat reflex 
so we wouldn't slip. 
I know'd you'd be a doormat,
I know you'd be a hard nut,
I know you'd hunt and gather,
I know you'd beg and borrow.
And I know

you'd listen to my every childhood fear,
that every slight I've ever suffered
would move you to a poet's tears
even more than a printer malfunction.
That you'd hunt down any abusers,
every last one, and give them a taste
of backstreet Cockney justice
in a lockup garage,
still weeping your Wordsworth waterworks.
I know

you'd pull yourself together forever,
renounce the sauce, the juice, the tabs, the gear,
all that diehard dieeasy despair at the bottom 
of the battered heart of you. 
And, mummified in nicotine patches,
buddy up to all mankind, be a crusader without rest
for a world that might even begin to be a beacon
of anything good enough to guide my baby girl
to eternal safety, just that I might enjoy peace 
of mind whilst I live and after I die. I know

you'd go everywhere I've ever wanted to see,
anywhere I've ever wanted to be, no matter
how hard people are for you. I know

you'd become the world's foremost scholar
of the Karma Sutra, a
supple sinewy spidery suitor,
that my clitoris would be the pinkest pearl
in the least seedy, most respectful 
sex museum ever opened.
And that you would be its 
Gollumesque curator, attentive 
to an extreme, licking it cream even after you're spent
so it ruddily radiates in evermore 
cherished whore orgasmic strobe, 
hard light of my sensuality in idealised-1st-time-like 
rush and flush of perfect play gentle and rough. 
You would be my Gollum but with a better bottom, 
in a crotchless deepsea diver suit were that my kink. 
In bed, my Drop Dead Fred, my disgusting best friend. 
Postcoitally, we'd strip down 
to our inner children,  you would remind me 
laughter is the orgasm of the child.   
I know

to you my boobs would always be the perfect boobs,
however the autumn of the female form might fall,
that you'd squeeze them thruout the night from fitful
fear my glories won't be there cum morning. Or
worshipfully clasp my little finger in your sleep like a newborn.

And however stout and selfaccepting and Rubenesque
in domestic bliss I become, due to everyday Valentine's
pralines and your fussing, lifeextending homecooked 
meals, I know you'll still stay trim, get down the gym,
splash on some aftershave, put on a nice shirt,
in case I desert you for the next Jackthelad. I know

there'd be so many trails of rosepetals to our boudoir,
so many silken rosepetals on the silk bedsheets
you'd be in hock to Harrods for, that the hooverbag
would be like a florist's returning from holiday.
I know

that when you're ancient as Mummra and his spirits of evil, 
you'd spend a pharaoh's ransom on Viagra
just to make me still feel attractive, run
your arthritic fingers with difficulty thru my blue rinse.
And if I know anything,

it's that you'd write me a poem everyday
and paint my portrait everyweek.
I'd be a Gala to your Dali
without all the twisted shit.
Or like a whitehot scribe, you'd 
build us a life out of my daydreams,
immortalise my childhood's best bits  
into kidlit Pulitzers, fulfilling moneyspinners.
I know

we'd be the Broadland Brangelina,
that if it ever came to it, one phonecall
after twenty years and you'd fly to me
like an angel from back in the day, 
adopt my Accrington Stanley
football team of other men's kids
and lead them up the leagues. I know

you'd lie for me, die for me,
change for me, stop being strange for me.
I know

you'd lie for my baby girl, die for my baby girl,
change for my baby girl, stop being strange for my 
baby girl. But

I'm sorry, I don't know what to say,
I just don't like you in that way.