THREE MINUTES OF YOU

Minute 1:

She likes you.

The you that tickles her desires
Like a sorcerer summons reluctant ghosts to awaken for Halloween.

So smoothly that she laughs her jaws and ribs into an ache,
Her eyes sparkling like darts of bonfire flames.

She's star-struck every time your attention is hers.

Perhaps this is how she trips.

She wants you.

The you that's quick to deeply and devilishly etch into the soul of her nerves.

So deeply and wittingly weaving in,
That she cannot laugh at a joke without wondering whether you would find it funny.

So devilishly embedding into her heart of hearts
That your name is the only song.

Perhaps this is how she falls for you.

She deifies you.

The you whose demons scrub up and dress up for dates with her.

So charmingly that fantasy replaces reality,

Perhaps, you should have dug a shallower pit.

Perhaps this is how deeply you wanted her to fall for you.

Minute 2:

She has fallen.

Not for you.
Of course not.
She's wiser than that.
But, is she?

She's probably only fallen for the idea of you.

Her desires have been playing in her dreams,
Casting you as the handsome knight.

Your elegant fabrication of gentlemaness
So finely cast, she willingly loses her feet.

She has fallen.

For you that she sees in her fantasies.

She wants to capture the mundane moments with you,
To freeze them in little pockets of time.

She's no fool.
She knows she might soon need the comfort of memory.

Fuck boys don't last.

She has fallen.
For you.

And you last long enough to count.

So she begins to build ice castles in the desert.

And you bring the paint for your castle walls.

Surely you're not one to disappoint.

Minute 3: 

She is alone.

You left.
And with her sanity too.

The fantasies she found comfort in now mock her.

Your fingers no longer trace maps
To uncharted paradise on her flesh.

And she knows you shouldn't come back.

She is bitter.

Memories of you are but torture.

Where you drew laughter on her ribs
That tattoo now spells torment.

When she recalls your caresses,
Emptiness confronts her.

Promises once spoken are now drawings on sand,
Erased and drowned in tears.

She is awake.

The pieces of her broken heart pound as a whole.

She knows she'll fall again,
Perhaps for herself next time.

Holding on to her fairytales,
She must keep going.

But what's this space in her heart for,
If not toads and beasts?

MORE ME THAN ME

I am in love with her.
This pretty girl who jumps out of me every time I sip this wine.

She is free, uninhibited, pure.
She is proud, content, alive.
She is smart, confident, sufficient.
She is more me than I am.

Last night she came out again. She had been naughty and flaring up all week. She had screamed and kicked like a bad child. So last night I let her out of her cage.

She came out smiling and grinning  with mischief. And she came out swaying her soft hips to some music I could not hear. She danced gayly like her feet had been bewitched. She came out, and she came with all my sass.

This girl I'm in love with, She went into a fit. She yelled at me and she broke some of me. She said she's tired of wafting in and out of my lucidity like a caged vixen. "No more prison," she ordered.

No Promises

Do not promise me a fairy tale. No! Please don't make promises. Because my heart is silly, she'll believe you.

There was I time I dreamed of the luscious kisses of knights. And princes whose kingdom was trapped beneath my bosom. Who'd guard my smile with truth and soul.

I wanted you to swear by the stars in the night sky and the moonlight trapped in the salty lake. That my name is the only melody. And the rhythm of your heart beats in acknowledgement.

That time is not yet passed. Fantasies still plague my sanity.

Dancing in the rain and kissing you while the great ocean jealously rages by. There can be no antidote for such portions.

So please don't mention such foolishness to me. Because every word you say is like a sorcerers' curse. It'll bind my naive heart like a poet's muse.