Poetry through the Seasons of Buffy the Vampire Slayer
She wears scars on the inside,
dragon inn
dragon out,
drops her dress to forget, but
instead remembers,
diving deep into crimson sheets.
He wears teal, the color of his eyes,
telling tales
trick or treat,
wraps her hair around him like a cape,
escaping easily into morning coffee.
She never looked for him in daylight,
the sun
so hurts his eyes,
burning still, but can’t admit it,
her rarest jewels in heaps at his feet.
She came for me
and I came for her.
We were lovers
for awhile,
the dark
and the light.
Awakening
in butterflies and daisies,
she didn’t know where
she’d been.
Who would you be if I weren’t me,
asking why you stole my boyfriend?
I try to send her back
to a world more tolerant,
but her charm
has lost its way.
Pink sweater,
banana,
orange backpack.
A fold in time
and it could be
leather pants,
red lips,
black fingernails.
Returning to the dark,
it overtakes her
and, once again,
she is dust.
Dressed in red,
blood still wet
on your wounds,
you are the only color
in this dreary world
of wishes.
Your betrayers
don the black
of sorrow.
A thousand slivers
slide beneath
your laughter.
You’re beautiful
like splinters
of stained glass
seeking solace
in a new religion.