in an ancient story a golden ball is dropped into a river, never to be returned. You fall in love like this. over and over again with someone who doesn’t want you.
Nothing surprises him. The moon could lower itself into your lap and he still wouldn’t notice you.
did he kiss you?
did he ask you to stay?
he fell asleep as you recited him into existence, damnit. There was no one else there to listen. even crickets kept their silence. •
(there are two sides to this story though and his telling asks for nothing)
your attentive (other)lover asks you- what is it about you that returns to someone who hurts you?
what imprint did your absent father leave into your bones that you forget your worth, forget your name, and are charmed by his hollow spells instead?
Pied piper made his own flute out of oak tree. It’s marked with crescent scars. He calls me towards his mournful river. How can I not follow? Together we are moon, conch, serpent, river, garden, forest. symmetrical. gold and earth.
If you (ever)
leave no trace except for spider eyelash marks that you imprint on his pillow. (maybe then he’ll remember you from when you met by the river you offered with your eyes)
trace a serpent upon his forearm, mark it with salt and sage as he tells you about a tiger that forgot the taste of flesh one night when the spirits don’t let you sleep.
anoint his eyelids with rose water. purify him. trace one line across his lip. give him a part of the ocean (only if he’ll keep it) awaken him with your devotion like the daughter of the crystal mountain.
Though you know what?
He doesn’t deserve you.
So they all say. but
you lay down a bed of roses everytime
you see him and spread your legs bare anyway.
Lovefool, even the planets laugh at you. your mouth is gold, illuminated by a fire held in seashell and spell.
my lonely fire, I think I burnt out that night and broke all my own rules
Damn devotion and those who tell us that your suffering counts for something. Damn the land that taught me to make a god of absence. Damn my open rib cage.