Hero

He drove me home
and I saw when
the disenchanted moon
fell down and broke
at my feet anchored
in dark waters.

My lovely neck wanted a vampire,
somebody sent me a hero instead.
Drink my poisoned blood, I thought.
My soul was trembling with awe.
Can a weird desire scratch and stain
his blind lens?

Your teeth tearing my skin gently,
my self-consciousness bleeding,
twisting the stars, piercing the night,
puncturing my cherished wounds.

He - my private hero -
drove me home,
past midnight.
Split, deformed, torn
in a million fragments he was
as the reprehensible moon
measured his words and counted
his heartbeats.

I could hold eternity forever.
It would be a tender damnation
for both of us. You would be immortal,
I would be your favorite demon,
exhausting your resources, watching
the revolution of the retrograde planets.
Happiness would be immoral but true.

He drove me home
and his goodness and indecision
kissed my red velvet lips:
no life
could possibly touch his skin.

As I left his drowsy car I could only feel
he wasn't prepared to drink
my milky ways.

Heroes - who needs them
after midnight?

Karla Bardanza
http://asmoonsewsthesatinstars.blogspot.com
http://skycladatmidnight.tumblr.com