Inigo Attempts Poetry: Part One

It doesn't much matter what I say about her, does it?

She reads it, she moves on.
She doesn't, maybe someone else does.
Maybe someone else tells her.
Maybe she moves on.

Everything about her puts up a red flag to me.
Volatile.
Ecclectic.
Haven't I said that this is what I'm looking for?

I can laugh, I can joke.
When does that stop?
When do I just say something?
I can't laugh and joke forever.

But three months from now it won't matter, will it?