Sweet Potato

She cooks you sweet potato you don't like aubergine She knows to boil the kettle when you hum bars from grease She senses you are lonely but still she can't be sure And so she stands and waits stands anticipating How can she become the psychic that she longs to be to understand you How can she become the psychic that she longs to be to understand you He brushes thoroughly He knows she likes fresh breath He rushes to the station He waits atop the steps He's brought with him a mars bar She will not buy nestle And later he'll perform A love-lorn serenade, a trade How can he become the psychic that he longs to be to understand you How can he become the psychic that he longs to be to understand you So give her information to help her fill her holes Give an ounce of power so he does not feel controlled Help her to acknowledge the pain that you are in Give to him a glimpse of that beneath your skin Now my inner dialogue is heaving with detest I am a martyr and a victim and I need to be caressed I hate that you negate me, I'm a ghost at beck and call I'm failing and placating, berate myself for staying I'm a fool I'm a fool He greets his stranger meekly a thing that she accepts She sees him waiting often with chocolate on the steps He senses she is lonely she's glad they finally met They take each other's hands walk into the sunset (Do you like sweet potato?)