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.