By Clara Elizabeth
Orpheus,
Why do you move to smoke your cigarette away from me?
I breathe your air regardless–
Every time you touch me it hurts.
The way you move death between your teeth,
I, under your lips and breath and tongue.
If I, your fantasy girl, color the walls of your world, then love, what is it to be me other
than an empty, painted thought?
I will not be extinguished, I swear I exist;
I am your perfect girl,
Sweet fool, that is what I want.
Perfect, is what I want!
It is the I, I want.
It is the I in you that I want.
There,
Your fantasy is mine!
I don’t want you, I want me.
You are me.
You are mine.
I am selfish, I am alive.
Now you have become the empty thought.
I will fight you, my Orphic opponent
Which one of us will win out?
We each claw — not be the figment of the other’s mind.
Lest I remind you: only one of us, sweet dear, can live.
But if I were to die, I would do so happily
Your twisted notion of Platonic form.
You did tell me, I’d look beautiful as a dead girl.
And I smiled when I replied that I would.