i wish i learned how to let go from the get go
because i wouldn't have changed faces like a gecko.
her body was a temple i painted art deco,
i fell for her tempo it resonates like an echo.
i tremble at her tone yet her treble let alone
could break any heart made of stone.
she's known to play her part,
she's shown she can master it.
she hits every note,
she's dead accurate.
she's a natural when it comes to the art.
she's outsmart anyone even the likes of Descartes
and depart in the dark just to get a head start.
she's a work of art with beautiful quarks
that set apart the sharp remarks
with the monarch sparks
we shared that night we were in my parked car.
i swear you might be the most astounding star
i have ever found on my radar
but you are by far the very avatar
of a die-hard wild card.
are you barred in?
has the flower child outgrown her garden?
or were you just starving for a greater havest
when you carved out my carcass?
perhaps you're a Marxist
and my work wasn't up to par with your target market.
i thought a monarch was regarded as a god incarnate
yet your true colors were scarlet.
you weaved a web of lies like Charlotte.
have you achieved your dreams yet my darling starlet?
are you set on starring in a different light?
apart from all the starry nights, and sorry fights?
you're such a sorry sight when you hardly ever blink
at anything i say yet everything i think.

© Matthew Harlovic