His Fame.

He said I was always like tanzanite,

pretty to look at but not very note-worthy -

I happen to agree.

i.

His sigh in my ear is like birds in the morning;

so sweet and serene, yet not what I wanted, when I wanted it.

The cracking of a fire when the weather's of a heat,

but just a few more months' and the sentiment would be sweeter.

Never the same, as the long nights in bed

with the sound of your breathing in my ears

and some notable words you said.

Cliche components - like making out to Celine Dion

and the crisp air that hit my heart when 'I love...' had come,

running out your mouth and leaving my throat with a lump.

ii.

He's handsome--in the way that you never were;

softest hair and senseous hands, that caress my cheeks

in such a way he was trying to catch me, before I burst.

Much kinder - the sound of his voice like virtues

in a world of vices, he's like holy water in hell,

just a saviour for the sinners and a lover for the hurt -

but he doesn't say my name like you did.

iii.

Calm down darling, your cold advances to break him and I

almost makes it sound like there's still enough love,

to make you want to hold me close.

But I could never take up another heartbreaker's vows

and throw the audible warnings of my own 'neverevers' away,

listening to my past echoes of 'never again, no more'.

But it's you, so logic is unethical.

iv.

Compositions--like violin solos in an orchestra,

just the lull of the lute's love in my heart is like you -

dedicating a forever true, into the forboding dark

and me believing you, like a sheperd's herd does -

too afraid to admit that maybe I'm still a fool for you;

truth is, I don't love him at all.

The catch of his hands on mine; his fingers looped around

my shaking frame, as I cry for you and he doesn't know

that it's your hands I want to hold me close.

He's kissing my forehead and promising me no fears,

but he's throwing falsehoods out left and right

hoping this time I'll mark him as mine.

But he doesn't know that his heart's a flattery,

but no more closer to mine in such ways as yours

than any other man who may mesh my hands together

and put my words into a sincere symphony.

v.

There's no heartache like that of loving someone,

who make love you in such a twisted way they play games

just to let you know that you'll never be through.

But you hate them--

But you love them--

all the same.

♥