And so it comes to this.

Tonight, I lean back
And inhale the strum of your guitar,
Sweet heavy spices in your voice
Rubbing me raw with wanting....

Romantic, you think it.

You sing of those you can't have -
Your happy parade of other men's jewels -
Just Life! you say, and Look! it's
Oh so sad.
(You fancy yourself a gypsy.)

And so we come to this.

I'm weary with your notions
Of fate and fulfillment,
Your hiding behind that curtain
You call Necessary Precaution,
Lamenting those you couldn't have.
Afraid to pick up the damn scissors.

And afraid of Possibility,
Which demands falling.
And real courage.
Fall.
I dare you.