You glisten in my throat, baby,
        and glow across my pores -
    but for our love to be
         effective, you've gotta start shimmering, too.
   You, though, will remain dull and we will
                 be like either side of
          a glazed vase - sparkling Side A
                                vs. cold, unfinished clay.

   I had been content to play Dagny Taggart
                       to your Hank Reardon,
        or Hades, on fire with patience
                        to have my time with
                                  the Persephone in you.
             But now I'm out of analogies,
       cyclically suffering or accepting as Joshua Shay
                   as you play a cool, apologetic version of yourself.

       I will carry on as a
       star,
              guiding lost travelers like I do,
                            but in
                     this dark, cold sky,
                I'll keep wishing I was floating
                       into you.
I will dance freely
         with the other flames
      and ignore the jumping embers
       in my stomach whenever
          I see your silhouette.
                          I will sidestep,
                 as a fighter, if ever
                           I let my body get
                                 too close
                to your shadowboxing fists.


      Because you are cruel and
                 I am vicious,
         we must remain:  so
                       as not to fray
       the gentle fabric of your and my
                                     respective flesh.