Saturday, December 06, 2008

The Truth Is

She loves everything you love,
and maybe you, someday.


Swift and clean and clear like glass,
Lomo eyes too brave by half

love and learn -
she kneels at earth's altar, dancing just out of reach.
Listen to her
blind you with the rooms she's seen,
the snake charmer's flute;
Six years of spoor.


Take her.
It's a map of what you've prayed for,
unfettered, not an accident.


Love her, for I'm just a trite slut,
untested
and with no more tricks up my sleeves,
arms flayed bare to the bone.
I'd no sooner die than lose you
And if I cannot hold you,
I'd rather give you away.


I would forge you in her white-hot fire,
if only I dared.

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