Ant Smith

All poems

I won't

I won't buy for you a dozen roses
For I know you fear pricks
I won't book for us a fancy dinner
Or splash out on tickets
I won't make all my special sexy moves
On the back row at the flicks
Instead I'll do the kind of things
I know that make you tick

I won't bring you swedish chocolates
Or things that make you sick
I won't take you out to gay old Paris
Or other crazy shit
I won't offer you the very moon
For you know I don't own it
Instead I'll strip my clothing off
And offer you my bits

I won't send to you some stupid card
I ordered with mouse clicks
I won't present to you my bleeding heart
That's not a good antic
I won't go to hell inside a handcart
Or swim the river Styx
Instead I'll simply play my part
For you're my true epic