Love song. (A horrible person's gradual understanding of the immediacy and importance of love.)

I'd write you a love song
But I'd probably just center it on me.
This poet may go on unheard,
But I'm glad when each word's so cheap.

I just want to get you into bed;
I'll get no satisfaction; only relief.
I'll be tetering on the edge,
Because I'm not ready to face this ravine.

Oh, what have I got myself into?
Why am I leading her up the garden path?
These pockets are too big for this clown;
I wanted something small but I pulled out a giraffe.

Has this been left wandering for too long?
It's a big world - she can't meet everyone.
And if I let her go I know she'll carry on.
But have I undervalued her so wrongly?

Everybody says love is blind,
So how will I find love when so am I?
Did I ever have my things in order?
Why was she so good when we were on the border
Of two different states;
Going two seperate ways?

I guess we wanted to run
But we succumbed to our malaise.
I don't know whether I should go.
Do I need a one-to-one with my soul?

I think that I've lost touch;
I need to paint my darling with a finer brush.
Love isn't imminent until it goes from bland to bright.
I've been sleeping in the darkness,
But now I see her light.