Poetry through the Seasons of Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Did I tell her I loved her?
I was so young and the word love
so ancient.
Across the fire, I see her face
in the desert that appears after death.
With feline grace, she guides me
across the sands, to a place
where love is tortured and I am exposed.
Rub salt in the wound.
Forgive the salt.
Love the salt.
Beauty cannot drag from me the truth.
The truth is love and love is pain.
Hold onto love.
Protect it from all enemies.
I won’t forget
what you did
for love.
Real girls are spongy.
I bounce off them
and ricochet around the room,
leaving splats of color
on the walls and the floors,
dripping
oozing
spilling
into crevices and corners,
finger painting
the imperfect lines of their bodies,
wiping off the colors
to reveal the skin beneath.
* * *
She was a robot
for love.
A girl
made of bolts and screws.
The perfect woman.
Programmed to hug,
kiss and caress.
To always say yes
to his every whim.
Built to love.
Built to cook.
No baggage.
No needs.
Just pure devotion.
Even that wasn’t enough.
Everything he wanted
wasn’t really what he wanted.
And everything she had to give
really wasn’t enough.