Lip gloss four times, never three,

Or he won’t want to look at me.

Mascara ten or I’ll seem plain,

Too much and he’ll call me vain.

A kiss to prove I know my place,

A second so he’ll still embrace.

My hand in his, just soft enough—

Too firm, I’m needy. Too light, too tough.

I count, I fix, I do it right—

But when did love start feeling tight?