Certain that I'm lost, my eyes search the street
zoom in on a figure across the square,
eight inch heels, encase Cinderella feet.
Christ forgive me, but all I do is stare.
Holly fuck! Can't be? Fuck me, she's seen me!
Run Olly! Run Olly! But I just stand
eyes full of her, the possibility
punctured only, when she holds out her hand
unlit cigarette, slim fingers of wire,
“Beautiful boy! You like? You give me fire!”
“Like?” Then I understand the truth of it
it's not love, like I had imagined it,
'cause she lost her slipper, crossing the street
And now she walks on Cinderella feet!