just as the last white blossom of the myrtle gently falls i linger within the echo of the nightingale’s plaintive call I toss you an apple ripe you don’t notice me at all gravity predates this courtship ritual i’m tired of waiting in the wings while Aphrodite plays my fraying strings. just as the last swallow leaves the eaves before the rains a faint trace of its departing yearning song remains I set aside the wreath I wove watch the color drain away i’m tired of waiting in the wings while those less deserving see the fruits of their labor received in good favor. Oh but were I as fair as Psyche so radiant, aglow surely then I would reap the prosperity I sow I’m tired of waiting in the wings while some new face steals all my lines gets roses, gets the praise for stumbling through what I rehearsed for days always the bridesmaid, never the fucking bride. just as the final cup is poured beneath the evening stars I save the sweetest figs for someone… wherever you are woe, woe, woe and woe again! woe, woe, woe and woe again! woe for me, for thee!
