...you to my ex Renee?
She was my eagle. You're my porcupine.
With her soft wings she'd brush my fears away,
while your sharp jabs seem painful by design.
Often I'd think that she and I were made
of fire and storm -- oh, how our passion flowed!
You needle me! I fall asleep dismayed,
each night I fear my pent wrath will explode.
For, since I've met an eagle eye-to-eye,
flown in her wake, played tag between the trees,
nothing compares. I wake up with a sigh:
I know she's filled my cup with love's disease.
So long as eagles fly and I can feel,
so long will porcupines have no appeal.