She's the rhythm in my dance,
the reason for my choreography.
Everything I do is in her name.
No universe is complete without her
(she is the embodiment of all life):
I am not complete without her
(she is the reason in my mind).

It's not even about you.

It's fire scorching everything in your path,
the way you command attention from everyone without saying a word.
It's starshine in your eyes,
how you can make the worst things sound like they've been made of velvet,
how you could snap my heart in two and convince me it was a good thing.
It's the seduction,
the growl in your throat when something you want is just within reach,
when you don't make promises and I still expect you to deliver,
but you're still a ******* god when my expectations exceed everything else.

It's about how you love,
how you could suffocate me with your two hands,
and I'd still waste my breath on you.  

It's about the way you noticed me,
how it was only for a moment,
and I'm still enamoured.

Sounds specific to dying engines,
picked locks,
or waves lapping at the surface just above your head;
The feeling of the earth crumbling below you,
the tremor caused by a far-off explosion,
or the way black holes will lure anything into their grasps.
The way any noise can make you jump,
the mention of someone causing your breathing to quicken, your pupils to dilate, or your hair to stand on end.
Knowing that there's no solution.

She doesn't write poetry about me anymore.
I wonder why.

Wound in Hades' cold grasp,
brought to asphyxiation by his fingers,
I can feel the universe crumble away as the edges of my vision darken,
blurred,
and I call out for you.
I was always a fool for pretty eyes,
dimples, freckles,
tattoos and short hair,
and the kind of laugh that makes your hair stand on end
(in shocked delight, not terror,
though the way your heart begins to pound makes you wonder).
It's enough to say I'll cause my own downfall,
but I'll always give my last breath to whisper your name.

One had wise cocoa eyes and dimples like craters in his cheeks,
and spoke with such energy you couldn't help but love him.
The other had hair like fire and such a perfect smile,
and the fervor in his voice was like taking your first sip of coffee in the morning.

Two pills later with droopy eyes,
Cinnamon aphrodisiacs,
Candles that smell like your skin when you bury your nails in my thighs and seek some greater vengeance,
Sun-kissed skin and the muscles of a lover (and a fighter,
because what is love without fighting).

Heaven in copper pools,
except I've never believed in God.