I waited, dressed to kill in red, and in love both, of which I could have been coaxed out of You have turned a pale shade of white, my Valentine Al Green sang to me, as my pen danced as your substitute we danced all night long, stationary, our dance floor. As we whirled to the emotions of words' sounds; hand in hand, we went round and round and round No one else in the room most of all, not you as my ink turned from red to blue