The Wolf With The Red Roses

Last night, in john's car, while we were lost somewhere in westchester, trying, half heartedly, to get back to campus (half heartedly because we both enjoy being lost and had admitted that, as long as we didnt have to pee and as long as the car had a tank of gsa, we didnt need to be found just yet) he played me a meatloaf song that started with this silly little exchange that he told me is supposed to be marriage vows.


man: On a hot summer night, would you offer your throat to the wolf with the red roses?
woman:Will he offer me his mouth?
man: Yes!
woman: Will he offer me his teeth?
man: Yes!
woman: Will he offer me his jaws?
man: Yes!
woman: Will he offer me his hunger?
man: Yes!
woman: Again, will he offer me his hunger?
man:Yes!
woman: And will he starve without me?
man: Yes!
woman: And does he love me?
man: Yes!
woman: yes!
man: On a hot summer night would you offer your throat to the wolf with the red roses?
woman: Yes!
man: i bet you say that to all the boys.

And what i think about it is this:
Will she starve with being eaten? Will he offer her his throat? Does she love him?

And if this question had been posed to me, i would have answered: Well, Sir, it would depend entirely on the amount of swagger of the wolf in question.
If the wolf has enough swagger for my taste, than sure, sure, have my throat.
And by the way, what im measuring when i measure swagger is this: The probability that the wolf will be able to swallow and stomach me and the probability that he will choke.