An Ode to Muses to Melpomene

Calpurnia

The scent of your jacket lingers in the pages of another man.

I tap the pen that we define poetry with, to the strums of a guitar.

I catch myself listening to those same notes.

Did I choose wisely?

Or will I curse another angel?

You made me forget how much I used to memorize his chapter,

Until I went home, and you no longer wanted to speak with grace.

I drove and listened to music on an infinite loop,

It reminded me of an illustrated nostalgia

And I prayed you would stop this idealized break-up song.

Sometimes, I wish you relapsed.

Those were the moments the world was only occupied by two.

Now, I withdraw from manipulating your mirage

Because I have not met you sober.

I know I fail to suit your reputation.

I notice it in the way plans fall through the cracks,

I plead you do not throw me down with them.

Threatening me once before,

It humbles me to think I will be just another name in that notebook

And dread that you cannot read my handwriting.

You are not obligated to clarify your intentions, or even fight,

It will just grant me that much more sorrow when I know this will soon be over.

You love me,

You told me while you were in an apparition haze.

Except, I detest being only your friend.

It will just stain my memories with laughter.

You fear companions, as do I,

Loving all that you despise when you are not drunk with delight,

As I weep, when it has been eons since the taste of wine turned me numb.

You name me your everything

And say this intensity will cause a tragedy with each nightfall.

Will I make you feel alone?

I know your friends loathe the sight of my silhouette

And take over the lyrics meant for your chorus.

They refuse to speak our language

And it displeases them that our foundation is solid.

I desire your song in the shower, without your envious producers.

As I listen to this melody,

I fear our trips will not travel past that bookstore.

You yelled her name upon realizing I was never permanent.

I will never forget that day

And I still mourn it in writing.

If I am forgotten in the fires of the Ptolemaic kingdom,

At least I'll be remembered as an artifact.