Psyche on the Dock

You were always too beautiful for your own good,
but never let it go to your head like lesser women.
In love, of love, for love, amidst love,
beloved lover of Love himself,
and you were too curious for your own good as well.
Was it worth that glimpse of his face?
Tell you the truth, I'd have done the same,
though I may have been more careful than you.
Tell you the truth, I do something similar,
shedding light on faces I should leave in the dark.
Stand here by the water with me and tell the truth:
Wasn't it all worth it in the end?
For you, ambrosia, immortality.
For me-- I don't know yet. But soon I'll see.

Gates of Horn and Gates of Ivory

Sing, o muse, a lullabye.
Lead me down the long corridor behind my eyelids
to the place where dreams issue forth.
Let me keep watch over the gates
to learn the truth or falsehood of my recurring dreams.
From the magnificent gates of ivory strides
he whose sunlit locks blind my reason.
He speaks words of love in reverent tones--
a lie so sweet I'd fain ignore its source
to salve my aching heart's scarred seams.
Opposite, from the translucent gates of horn,
I see myself stumble, uncertain but unafraid,
searching-- as ever-- for love and for healing,
always seeking reason, purpose, meaning.

the night held its breath

It always starts small--
one flake drifting to the sidewalk,
one sneaky glance from the corner of your eye.
Before I know it things are in full swing--
snow swirling under the streetlamps,
your hand on my waist, dipping me low.
Then, maybe, it gets overwhelming--
a whiteout outside the window,
kisses driving me to distraction.
There's no going back from here--
inches accumulating by the hour,
touches growing bolder by the minute.
You laugh and hum "Baby, It's Cold Outside."
When I said I didn't love you-- I lied.

talking to the barista

Being a superhero might be easier than you think
(depending on your powers and how tragic your backstory
and also your opinion of spandex, kevlar, and petty crime)
or then again it might be just as difficult as you think
(Iron Man's an alcoholic, Batman and Spider-Man orphans,
and they've all got post-traumatic stress disorder symptoms)
but really I can't recommend the lifestyle
(unless you flourish under pressure, think fast,
and perhaps are invulnerable to death rays)
having been a caped crusader for several years now.
(It's not polite to ask a woman her superpower
and haven't you ever heard of a secret identity?)
Oh, you'd rather be a supervillain anyways?
I knew you looked a familiar type of crazy.