If it was possible..
I would exchange my heart,
With an eve bark...
So that someone will write,
Something this beautiful about it.

Why did you come here, complicated man?

The sun had not yet fallen when my name
came tumbling from spiced mouth.
You've never said it before,
You must have known what I am.
Allegoried Calypso and Cressida and Dulcinea,

How did you find me?
Know to send two syllable plea running over wired bridge,
straight into aching ears,
over chaotic revelry and muted sorrow
you let me drip from wrought iron balconies
drank me up straight.
You chose the city of tragic love to make
sweet girl hiccup her penitential prayers.

Perhaps I never learn,
to stop making gods out of men but you,
you make it abhorrently easy.

Twice you called out for honey girl and I screamed
alongside the brass to drown out the swell of cinnamon voice.
One more time and I would surely sink.

Do you sing so sweetly knowing nameless girl
was violently trying to put the mist back?
Because each careless wink and wolf grin
shorn down grey forest of poorly concealed intention
and weak resolve.

You called my bluff, licked coppery maw,
laughed at the familiar futitilty.
Many a sweet girl have tried to ride scorpions.

Only when I run from you do you wail from silvered moon, comefindme, donotloseme.
You know I am trapped by my own fate.

You become my darkness, abashed devil
and now I know you dream of drowning in me,
la fuente de la juventud, lion man.

I want you to fall for me and I never want to find you at my feet.

I spent two days crying over a boy
who couldn’t even admit that I was ever something to him.

Two nights crying my tears into a river
in a city that didn’t give two ***** about me.

A boy that wouldn’t hold me and couldn’t let go of me.

I was a flower, wilting and dying under his touch
because he just couldn’t bear to ******* cut me off.

Danger be the man who bleeds the plights
of men of myth.
Don't you know that even Troy fell?
I do not throw pebbles at
your window in the night.
My eyes: yellow, unclouded;
mead and flowers drip thick
from my words:
banal and intoxicating.
Poppies blooming wild on timeworn cheeks,
Wine-dark hair in disarray.
Perhaps I have read too much into
the man who has read it all.
And perhaps he is only sea-mist mirage
cursed to appear an Adonis.

I made the ocean so that you would cross it.
It is only in this forced distance that
I am allowed to transcend this plain world;
in which I am bound to book
and you are bound to her.
Because in a land of gods and monsters
it seems not so strange that I am the other woman.
Clever sorceress who loves and lets you leave,
and with whom you know you might have stayed
forever.

Sail far, far away from me.

We stood at that crossroads,

bathed in lamplight,

blind,

he never even knew this was the end of us.

He pulled me close, closer

than I had ever been held

and I knew

we could never see each other again.

Under the wash of night,

I had finally found a ship calling out to me.

Someone had heard my call for help.

Someone had seen me.

For so long it was I who left them:

where they stood;

where I could still love them.

But I pushed him ahead of me.

I stood there and made him leave me

before my heart could chase after him.

He tried to turn back to me

with one last

dream-defying grin and I

squeezed my eyes shut.

I saw him once more after that,

I missed him by just a second,

I did not call out to him.

Our time together was over.

He told me to sail to him,

and the magic words to say;

I vowed for her sake to never utter them.

This world keeps disappointing me
and I realize now how
lucky I was to have met you,
such a fateful night ago.
Of all the ships and stars
and silly obligations,
we were two fools walking
barefoot down the streets
of a lantern-lit overripe spring night.
God, the night never ended,
and you
never answered my questions.
You were perfect that way,
always let me think
you were infinite and
I, the cleverest thing you'd ever met.
You loved me so easily and
it scared me to no end
that I knew you'd left.

Both he and I know that I am living in that camera of his.  Sweet girl, trapped, knowing nothing but laughter and million-watt smiles.

I don't know if he will ever develop the film.

Those were some of my brightest days, no matter how flimsy the flame was. Late nights filled with friends and stars and empty baseball fields.

I refuse to forget her. Sweet girl who tried her hardest, supplicated herself to his every mood, broke her bones to make him laugh. Because those photos are the proof that I meant something to him once. That he was just as much a part of the memories as I was.

Even though we're strangers now, maybe you even loved me once, when I was sepia.

So, cut me out if you will.
Cut me out of your film, I do not much mind.