Naked Empress

I want to write a real love poem again

Where I do not feel like an intruder

As if my presence is not a favor or point of convenience

While a woman looks at me as if in an airport lobby

I heard her crying light shy and under her skin

I know what that was and her trying to push me into the never

Does not change the reality that this was never about a future, but the present

In the present she is choosing no expectations, translated

“Please do not make me face myself

I am not sure I want to turn the tables

I like everyone coming to me for answers about them”

“Do not ask about me I am your psychological evaluator

This is about you, not me

Do not ask me my real name I am your dancing fantasy

This is about what you want, but know you cannot have”

“I am a ghost to your wet dreams of completion

Merge me into whatever it is you wish you want

For I will become that and yet not change at all

It is only your impression”

“Because this me is not malleable to your interpretation

Or interactions I am good as long as I am untouchable

What are you doing sir, how dare you see me?

I have told you nothing.”

“I am doing the emperor with no close on stage”

All the irony in the world could not prepare me for that

I am the man in the crowd pointing out her nudity

If this is not meant to be for us to have a rejoining and laugh at the intensity

Of a damn finally breaking in love’s splendor, then God you are truly fiendish

For me to be the seer and her the muse, me the writer and her the pensive dervish

She could pull me into the life I wish to crawl and love in my responsibilities

And I love her in her liberties; these are the chariots of fire for the gods

And my how I put it in her volition; to choose