Poetry through the Seasons of Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Sultry tones summon,
defining me, clawed
and bleeding with passion,
two of the same deceit.
The lines between beast
and savior blur.
And you ask,
Do you love me?
And I say,
I’ve never loved anything else.
Pain moves in
where love once lived.
Love packs a duffle
and drives away
in a blue van.
Music pricked his ears,
pouring straight
into his soul,
transforming him
into a creature,
wind in his fur,
flies in his teeth,
lifted from love’s arms,
its primitive heart
barely beating.
By candlelight
I carve out a life alone,
convinced
that I’m unlovable.
Insecurities, like bees,
pollinate fear
into brilliant blossoms.
I fall hard.
I fall deep,
red and black
and bleeding.
Lifted into flight,
beauty
frightened by love.
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.
One
where there were once
many, I take comfort
in the night, in the
creatures who
play there. Room most
familiar looms uncomfortably
large. Words form not
in my mouth, but
rush out the sides.
Phone rings a lost love’s
breath, no voice,
only darkness. Music
plays, something pink,
as bandits sift through my
memories. Parasol of past lives,
broken at my feet. For the cry
of one small creature,
I crash through the glass
to rest in the arms
of the familiar.
Shards of glass dangle.
Walking through memories,
everything fades.
I am your fountain.
Take what you need,
leave the spiders to feed.
The cat’s all alone,
counting miles
before dawn.
Some will be bitten.
Some will be brave.
In the mist, I must exit,
not saying goodbye;
just the slightest
flow of coat behind me.
And though we’ll meet again,
it’s twenty years ‘til then,
and many, oh so many,
snowy evenings.
A vision:
Daddy’s little girl,
barefoot and beautiful;
but damaged on the inside,
burned beyond recognition.
If we are to die,
I want to lie with you,
poisoned and fevered
until we find our way;
bound together in battle,
holding your hand until the end.
I will kill to save you.
You will die to protect me.
As the glass shatters,
the blade penetrates,
deep, like the blood of family,
and we part like sisters,
silent, but sure
to speak again,
at least in anger.
You are chosen
by the sunlight,
your lover
by darkness.
Shadows like spiders
entangle this lover’s box,
creaking open
to spill your fears.
Old and shriveled,
you hide
amidst the twilight.
He, forever lost
to the night,
is always beautiful.
You lower the lid
and, with great sadness,
walk away,
the only true gift
ever received
now left behind.
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.
If we could watch life
ticking away in red
countdown numbers,
would we be content
knowing how many ticks
we have left?
Or would we rue each second,
too visibly aware
of how much is already lost?
Would fear overtake us,
gluing our feet to the very spot
on the floor where we stand
staring,
unable to live our lives,
unable to remove our gaze
from the numbers?
Or,
as they tick down
slowly,
one by one,
are we finally fearless,
having witnessed
the face of time?