that a woman I’m with treats me like glass.
And even though I’m not with a woman,
I’m going with that sentiment as if Glady is singing to me,
and I’m imagining what it would be like to be with a woman
who’d tell me she’d never never never stop loving me
and that she’s a sweet loving woman.
I find myself lulled into that romantic fantasy and drift into
a living happily ever after scenario with an idealized woman,
and for a moment I’m living in a surreal imaginative world where the notes
and the lyrics of a song and the woman singing them are real life real.
The song ends. I come to my senses as another singer in another
song interrupts my romantic reverie singing about kissing a woman all over.
Bob Boyd