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My lover is a little girl
With curly blonde hair and pigtails
And pretty pink dresses
Trimmed with lace and bows
A powered visage
Glistening pink lips
As she strolls about the town
Hidden under her parasol
She receives glances and gazes
But no one may touch her
Except for me
As mid-afternoon approaches
She prepares for tea time
Sipping sweetly, pinky up
I taught her to be so polite
The opera is something she must know of
If she is ever to be perfect
I dress her up, take her out
She is truly a sight to see
When we come home
A discussion is had
Of improvements for the next day
Understood, she knows what to do
And so to bed we go
Brushing up on her Russian literature
She whispers goodnight to me
I look at her one more time
As I close the closet door
She's safe inside, so I can rest
And prepare to become her again