A missed connection for "blonde flautist"

You look like her.
You don't know that you do
and
if I told you,
you wouldn't know what
I was talking
about.

But I saw you
and
I gotta say
it ripped my guts
straight up
the middle.

You look just like her.

Its in the little things.
Porcelain skin,
enchanting eye,
subtle nose.

But you are not her.

You are better and
you are gentle.

You're the type that goes home and
makes your husband dinner.
You never look sideways
and you dream
of produce
car seats
and baby's
firsts.

You buy tiny clothes
that say "my mommy loves me"
and you don't wear white after
labor day.

You seldom drink and
when you do
its just one before bed time
at a reasonable
hour.

You look like her but you aren't
her.
You would never cut a man to pieces
and send his soul
to hell.

No, you are too good for that.

Purity is your middle name
and in a prior life
would have left me
dull.

Such progress.

Honestly,
I would love to smell some sweat tonight
and hear the music only lovers
make.

Two delicate wrists
one shapely navel
and a salted nectar
fit for
kings.