Hero

Painting by Gianni Bellini

He drove me home

and I saw when

the disenchanted moon

fell down and broke

at my feet anchored

in dark waters.

My lovely neck wanted a vampire,

somebody sent me a hero instead.

Drink my poisoned blood, I thought.

My soul was trembling with awe.

Can a weird desire scratch and stain

his blind lens?

Your teeth tearing my skin gently,

my self-consciousness bleeding,

twisting the stars, piercing the night,

puncturing my cherished wounds.

He – my private hero –

 drove me home,

past midnight.

Split, deformed, torn

in a million fragments he was

as the reprehensible moon

measured his words and counted

his heartbeats.

I could hold eternity forever.

It would be a tender damnation

for both of us. You would be immortal,

I would be your favorite demon,

exhausting your resources, watching

the revolution of the retrograde planets.

Happiness would be immoral but true.

He drove me home

and his goodness and indecision

kissed my red velvet lips:

no life

could possibly touch his skin.

As I left his drowsy car I could only feel

he wasn’t prepared to drink

my milky ways.

Heroes – who needs them

after midnight?

Karla Bardanza

Copyright©Karla Bardanza 2012