Failed Romance
I am legs.
Tall and slim, smooth like marbles with the same glossy effect.
I am breasts and his warm breath,
palpitating, quickening,
the depths of a heart
too quick to maintain.
The hole is in his hands.
How easy it would be to plug it,
to stop the leak, denounce the weak
and spit out an unrehearsed monologue.
But here are his carefully orchestrated
sins, the map of those successfully executed.
Well you cannot approach me like the battlefield, soldier.
I am a woman, not a gun.
I hear your songs otherwise unsung.
Hold me against the light until I am burnt,
you assuage me to believe
there is a lesson now learned,
but I am not wicked in my approach
like hearts of stone.
Find me and fill me, a canvas stained
on the back, you have flipped me to
clean, unvarnished truth.
If there's nothing you hold higher
than honesty at best,
you must know it was a mistake.
I have failed romance.
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