Don’t earnestly promise to catch me a star,

Cradle stars in your hands, cut up and bruised.

Don’t talk about how England awaits,

Grasp my hand as we wander down cobblestone streets.

Don’t tell me that you want to paint my portrait,

Show me in a sketch how you’ve captured my eyes.

In that notebook where you write all our future adventures,

How many entries will you ever cross off?

It’s one thing entirely to dream a beautiful love story,

It’s another thing to strive to make it all real.

Don’t promise we’ll go dancing together in the moonlight

Put on sultry music

slide across the floor and pull me towards you.