Poetry through the Seasons of Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Downstairs.
A little respite
from the noise.
Lights a cigarette
on the steps,
unaware of company.
Another pair of eyes,
some chitchat
in the dark.
Both dangerous
in their way,
though now reformed,
they share a smoke.
Words dart
warm and slippery
between them.
Eyes meet,
but no lips greet.
Just a little respite
from the noise.
* * *
good guys
get dangerous sometimes
and bad guys
can look like saviors
at first glance
They say creatures
without souls
can’t love, but we do.
Our love can be shallow
and fickle,
but may span
many lifetimes.
Having loved
with soul,
without soul,
then with soul again,
I find a keenness
to the love
a soul allows,
expansive and inclusive of realms
outside the object of affection.
Love that ignites an unrest
not easily quelled.
Love that erupts in a fiery flow
burning everything in its wake.
Perhaps my soul is for more than love now,
reaching out for life on its own.
Leaving haunted memories behind.