She’s the one that forgets about digital subscriptions,
loses track of time and umbrellas everywhere;
She’s the one that buys attractive skirts and dresses
though same shirt is the only thing she wears.
She’s the one that swings her mood in fish-nets
when there is nothing left but Sunday sun;
She’s the one who is spontaneous like fire,
A threatening and suffocating shot of rum.
She’s the right one that she things she should be,
I play her games to get acquainted with the girl.
She’s the one who is both pathetic and harmless,
A woman who is beautiful, alluring, fictitious but ill.