I don't want a part time love
one who smiles and flatters and comes and then goes
I don't want to be scheduled in
like a luncheon
I don't want to be fantasy
antithesis to reality
I don't want to breathe on stolen time
I don't want to battle your demons
invited inside to stay
I don't want to be analgesic
for long-term regrettable pain
I don't want to be an ancillary
to a primary cum secondary
Browning's tears and laughters, eyes sublime
I want you stark naked on May Day
I want you all mine to devour
I want you to scream all your secrets
I want you to taste Beltane's flower
And I want you to talk like a pirate
And I want you to sing of the sea
And I want you to show me each one of your treasures
O, bring back my bonnie to me
slings and arrows be damned
I'm a sucker for great tragic heros,
Apollo's great arrow, fly free!
As I fall into fear, it's suddenly clear...
Oh. that great tragic heroine's me.
So I'm left somewhere quiet and empty,
amidst thank-yous and god-were-you-greats;
awaiting occasion for love's sweet persuasion,
humbled by cruel laughing fate...
...or perhaps I humble myself.
Note to self - fix the me/me repetition and rearrange this a bit, if you ever come back to it.
