She was Love.
She in herself was
impervious to the tension of the earth
for her exterior to crumble,
for earthquaking carcinogens
She was ethereal.
Her footsteps tread lightly.
Her head held in a manner that
whosoever glimpsed her beauty
would question the absence of wings at her back
would not feign respect
He thought that was so at least.
She was a shapeshifter.
Merely unfolding the aspect of herself that was most pleasing
to the sort of man who still needs someone to save
like a prince who needs to wake some distraught maiden with his kiss.
Except this wasn’t that.
Chivalry isn’t dead.
I probably should have warned him,
but her execution was flawless.
He was drawn to her much like
those who are dry tongued seek water.
Similarly, to how those in the desert
come eventually to a palmed tree oasis
prepared to quench thirst.
He sought her,
but she, too, was merely a mirage.