Horrifying, the very thought of you
whoever you are,
future knife to my scar,
stay where you are.

Be handsome, beautiful, drop-dead
gorgeous, keep away.
Read my lips.
No way. OK?

This old heart of mine’s
an empty purse.
These ears are closed.
Don't phone, want dinner,

make things worse.
Your little quirks?
Your wee endearing ways?
What makes you you, all that?

Stuff it, mount it, hang it
on the wall, sell tickets,
I won't come. Get back. Get lost.
Get real. Get a life. Keep schtum.

And just, you must, remember this —
there'll be no kiss, no clinch,
no smoochy dance,
no true romance.
You are Anonymous. You're Who?

Here's not looking, kid, at you.
.