Miss beautiful girl is only fourteen,
But it's her girl, that entrances me night after night.
Whilst she's out on the town
We watch Winnie, read Fraggle,
Suck eggs out of eggshells
but no more than three, till no later than seven.

I kiss her goodnight,
twice on the forehead
and once on the lips.

Copying notes off a friend,
till Saturday night,
Climbing over the couch,
Giggle into her eyes
and at seven o' five,
kiss my girl
lots,
on the forehead;
and once on the lips.

Beautiful stranger,
I can't really know her
except what I've known of her mother;
Compulsive as sugar,
gullible,
green;
Rosy cheeks on rosed neck,
Mud brushed from her eyeballs,
on a forgotten old roof
the sunset fades away,
and my daughter was born,
My Isabel Kistle.
I think I'm in love


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