He pushes every button

Except the ones he should

Making every conceivable mistake

In a quest to win her heart

It is not the way, faulty prince

He winds her up like a clock

But in the opposite direction

The countdown to fury begins

It is an explosion he is after

Of a very different sort

He dances across her nerves

As skilfully as a performer

Unaware of the trip wire lurking

With expectations to win her trust

By pressing the detonator.

Little Ginge x