She puts her signals in a blender,
mixed to perfection.
Best chased with a bottle of wine.
The cheaper stuff.  She doesn't intend it to last.

She dances between moments;
memories that lodge in your brain and heart,
impervious to even the sharpest of chisels.
She doesn't intend those to last either.  Or does she?

She locks herself up high in a stone fortress.
Like Rapunzel with better hair, she keeps it all to herself.
It's impossible to climb, but I made it up there once,
because in those moments, I swear I could fly,
so I must have, up to the top, where she keeps her heart.

But those moments were just that.  Moments.
A fleeting wink in a brief gaze, from the best-made eyes
in existence.
And I lay now, in the trenches below,
fallen.  But am I defeated?
I can't tell because I'm still looking up there,
where her eyes pass to the next person who dare try to fly,
and I haven't looked away,
because I'm afraid,
that if I do I'll find
I left my heart up there too.