I love it when you call me baby,
rolling your eyes,
flutter your soft lashes,
I am away with the Swansea tides.
Hanging on, telling the boys,
to not count on my appearance at the local,
I am not at the bar,
there is no liquor involved-
when I get vocal, at how beautiful you are.
When I am drinking,
on a well worn leather sofa
and some mint blonde tries to get her hand in my thigh,
her night will be fruitless,
you are the only apple of my eye.
Rachel Henley 