She texts me to tell me
She is full of hole,
The old Beatles song
Filling my head,
She speaks in riddles
She expects me to resolve,
But not nearly as deep a mystery
As she is
I never know what she expects
Me to do next,
Needing a road map
To search for familiar landmarks
No path less traveled
Only the dark woods of her eyes
And this ache to go there.
If she expects me to fill all the holes,
I’m not sure where to start,
what do I fill them with
if I could?
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