You are a redundant metaphor
for real life
Picasso abstract, a face in no particular order
(you taste like crayola)
You are all the pretty things
that don't exist
But I imagine them anyway, imaginary friend
(always only almost)
You are an insoluble imprint
staining my margins
Left handed lead smudges from writing with pencils
(ghosts on my paper)
You are an august anthem
resound
You told the pleiades my secret and your conquest
(now Atlas has disowned me)
You are a coded message
and I wrote you
but I cannot repeat you, because you weren't mine
(I only did it to protect you)
You fit the bill, a model of perfection
but you are all inverted
Like looking through a mirror, sight divided by illusion
(I was so transfixed, you blindsided me.)
And now you're a sorry excuse
My tragic why
Don't feel bad, oh pursuasive pirate
(I evict you from my ocean)
I don't think you meant to compel what you didn't want,
I don't think you meant to watch me dance
(the dance of the seven veils, I dance to remind what it feels like to be indwelt by heart,
solemn sleeper,
give me the stone from your chest
and I will give it life,
it's alright, I already bled)
I don't think you meant to tell my fortune.
It's just that you were...my fortune.
I know, I dusted for prints and yours...
yours were all over my soul.