Dear Lady Raven,
I loved your laugh,
I loved your smile,
your raging spite,
and Wednesday style.
I loved your tattoo of the moon,
and your secret Viking rune.
I loved your eyes
and frozen lips,
an avalanche
in little sips.
I loved your past—an open book;
and all the coffee breaks we took.
But
you moved on—
just like you do,
as if this home
was not for you.
Lady Raven,
now and then,
I think of us—
what might have been.
I loved your good,
I loved your vice,
your nonchalance,
and ginger spice.
I loved your kiss that fate erased;
your citric acid aftertaste.
I loved your flame
and pale moon glow—
like tiger lilies
in the snow.
I loved the way you made me feel,
and every time you kept it real.
But
you moved on—
just like you do,
I guess my home
was never you.
Lady Raven,
rest assured
I'm more alone
but not uncured.
I loved your shade,
I loved your grace,
I loved those boots,
I loved that lace.
I loved your pristine werewolf fang;
the double-cross on which you hang.
I loved you manic,
loved you still,
both on or off
your little pill.
I loved the time you tamed my cat
and then I loved when you got scratched.
But
you moved on—
without a trace,
to make a home
some other place.
Lady Raven,
Miss "Plays-Her-Part,"
your tightrope act's
a work of art.
I know you're caught—
I've read your chart,
I'd move on too,
if I were smart.
But this ain't that—
some dying spark.
There is no back,
no cold restart.
My warmth remains
through light and dark.
So, too, the pain—
this tell-tale heart.
Sincerely,
J.S.
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