I don’t want a love like Romeo and Juliet, a crash and burn of angst and loss, love at first sight taken, no sooner discarded when another goddess descends to earth on golden slippers and silk trappings. Poisons and pain. No, darling, I’ve never asked for that.
I don’t want the love of two wyverns snapping, coiling, striking. The glory of blood around my neck. The bruises on my wrist burning dark blue. A collision of comets, and caresses. Fangs sinking into my throat, scales to smash my vulnerable heart – kill shot. Retaliation. How I learned to love the taste of grief, gore like Pinot Noir on my fangs. The brutal love and care that hurt more, somehow. Beasts that know only how to love when it hurts.
I don’t want a love like lithe cobwebs, torn and broken by slight storms or questing fingers. Spinning sonnets. Love in grottos and hollows, in corners and shadows. Was I the only lonely flower that welcomed your threads, your pincers? A convenience (making webs and finding flowers is quite exhausting) and nothing more? No, I don’t want that, even if those tales you twist in threads carry my name and make my heart soar. Can’t I be the one you were drawn to, in a meadow of wilds and roses? Don’t tell me it was only me, when around us the world was scorched ash, aching nymphs on their last breath, disintegrated leaves and bark, flora withered. That’s not special – I guess neither was I.
I want a love like…
Halloween as a child. A chill in the air, a shiver of magic. Laughter and candy-corn on my tongue, both sweet and not a bit bitter. Autumn leaves in glory under my feet, crunch like hollow bones. Jack o’ lantern guts, squealing as I dug my hands in, awe as the candles lit, flames flickering wild. Witch / cat / Tinkerbell costumes, the delight of exchanging one skin for another, premonitions of my future in crystal balls caught with moonlight, clouds backlit with stars. Trick or Treat – shrieked in joy, before I knew that the world was full of tricks. Before I learned not to ask for either. The ache of innocence.
The very first snow. My whole world pulsing with quiet, muffled dreams. Diamond constellations entangled within the snow. The alchemy of ivory and midnight, the crone’s weathered touch, kind and knowing. Walking quiet under icicle stalactites and the crimson of holly berries. And when my toes and nose were red and cold, retreat; fires blazing, fingers entwined, languid kisses, sighs of evergreen. The warmth of devotion, the ease of comfort a quilt on my pale skin.
My favorite album. The lyrics cunning and luscious, bold and subtle. Musical notes pounding, breaking – I spin and twirl, utterly unselfconscious in candlelight and dried sunflowers, vibrant – alive. Oh! The poetry that makes my throat swell, my heart ache; tears a quiet waterfall of jade and citrine crystals down flushed cheeks. The lows and highs that I crave, the agony and the ecstasy, the intoxicating passion roaring … and then the sweet, soft lips and touch – they steady me. I want to feel that. I want you to feel that.
Oh Venus. Oh Aphrodite. Oh Goddess…
I yearn.
Elisabeth Writing 