Sometimes
A woman has to be romantic.

(Even me of the spiky hair and combat boots
Of 21 years, 8 months, 17 days
and about 4 hours,
Of skyscrapers and concrete disasters
of urban cynicism)

Just once bring me flowers
(out of the neighbor’s yard if you must)
Light candles and watch me in shadow
Dance me through raindrops
Wait with me for the next star to burn.
(Don't forget the flowers)


But damn it,
When I tell you I love you
Don't think it's for ever.