I’m gonna make me a potion of guardrails,
the silver kind that line mountain roads,
and some barbed wire fences, the kind
that shred skin that comes too close.
I’ll put in ravines and chasms and cliffs
so high no one’s ever seen the top.
And I’ll distill it into a single drop
and put it into a crystal vial that fits
in the pocket closest to my heart.
And I’ll sleep with it on my pillow.
And I’ll drink that potion, I swear I will,
if you come one step closer, even in my dreams,
with those tender hands, those lips
so full of kisses, those promises
that it will be different this time.