Casanova

They call me Casanova

Because I’m just that good.

I see you walking over,

Just as I knew you would.

I glanced across the room

To quickly catch your eye,

Then shifted nervously

To make you think I’m shy,

And after several minutes

I caught your eye again,

And, with a hint of coyness,

I flashed my winning grin.

We played this for an hour;

I had to wait you out,

But you could not resist me;

I had you figured out.

So now you’re in my pocket;

I know the game is won.

I’ll ask you to my dwelling

To have a bit of fun,

And though I’m being forward,

I know that you’ll oblige

Because by now you’ve fallen

Victim to my disguise.

So when we storm my front porch,

Already tongue-to-tongue,

I’ll whisper to remind you

The night has just begun.

I knew since I first saw you

That you would sure put out,

‘Cause I have got the nostrum

That you can’t live without.

I’ve had some girls before you,

Who giggled much like you;

I knew the game they played, though,

Because I play it too.

I’ll lift your shirt and kiss you

While you unzip my fly.

I’ll lick you limb-to-torso;

You’ll arch your back and cry.

When I undo your bra strap,

Your heart will hasten pace.

You’ll shiver in the blanket

And touch my shaven face.

You’ll say, “My God, who are you?

I don’t think that we should ...”

I’ll say, “I’m Casanova,

And I am just that good.”

I’ll bring you high to climax

Then push you right back down.

You’ll beg me not to stop it

And flash that playful frown.

I’ll leave you cold and sweaty

And begging me for more,

And maybe I’ll oblige you,

Despite that you’re a whore.

Now when I kiss you softly,

The sequence of events

Will make you melt, reluctant,

And fill with hot suspense.

So when this first date’s over,

You’ll want a second, sure,

But will I really like you?

My motives are too pure.

I don’t have time to waste here

With infidels and sluts.

I need to know I love you

Before you make the cut.

You’ll call me Casanova

Because I’m just that good.

“Can I come back tomorrow?”

I swear I knew you would.

So on our fifth or sixth date,

When I am sure you’ll do,

I’ll drag you to the kitchen

And start to batter you.

I’ll strangle you with hangers

And make you scream to stop.

I’ll wrap the wire around you

Until your airway pops.

And when your fingers graze me,

So light, this final time,

I’ll stop and smile serenely,

Because they’ll feel sublime,

And when my club completes you,

You draw your final breath,

I’ll stagger to my bedroom

To get a hit of meth.

Then we’ll walk to the crawl-space,

Together after all;

I’ll dip my fingers in you

And paint you on my wall.

I’ll think, “Oh, Casanova,

This don’t look as it should.

I’ll need just nine more lovers

To make my mural good.”

So should policemen find you

In twenty years or more,

They’ll hardly recognize you

Buried beneath the gore.

Your head is in the oven,

Your hair has clogged the drain.

Those golden locks, so lovely,

Did prove to be a pain.

Bones are buried in the sand

In quite a hefty heap.

Skin is sewn upon my own,

Forever mine to keep.

Your organs long since eaten,

Your soul lives on through mine.

I lie in bed and touch you;

Our fingers intertwine.

Your legs inside the armoire,

My ring upon your hand,

You’ll make it through this, lovely,

My favorite five-night-stand.

They’ll call me Casanova,

And, girl, you know they should.

My name will long outlive me,

‘Cause I was just that good.