There are such things
as male sirens.
Beautiful, man-boys who play coy,
who charm and dazzle, and can
even feign intelligence,
they who are ultimately
directionless
little children, possessed
by a gaping need for love so strong
and deep
that they devour the spirit
from the hearts and loins of every woman
they meet around, whoever is
foolish enough to feel,
compelled to pour
an impossibly unrequited and
baseless love into the thing,
to nurture, and to spoil it,
to surrender over all of her time
to teach an unlearnable lesson
of which she is, in fact,
in need
in exchange for
a lust unsatisfied, and
a temporary validation so light
it touches only the forearms
like a quiet breeze in the morning,
or more accurately,
a wandering gnat
buzzing beside one’s ear
in the middle of the night
October 24, 2020
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