1.1.2007

I told you I didn't want it;

pink tulle, candy hearts,

fireworks.

but I lied.

I want you (to want to)

peel away my layers,

some translucent and pearly;

an oyster's half shell, and others

obstinate and acidic – an

un-ripened orange's skin.

I need someone who wants to fight his way through

my gauntlet of thorns;

emerge triumphant; bloody and bruised,

gone from Tarterus and back,

but the proverbial conquering hero,

nonetheless.