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Ill-gotten gains

Tell me, friend, she said
what is all this sighing about?
So I told her a tale
of the magnetic man
who used to say my name
over and over again

He liked the taste of it
melting in his mouth,
sharp and sweet
like blood diamonds
crushed onto his tongue

Called me mine
a quiet time or two
and I shimmered brightly
on the trophy shelf
of the machine of his mind

I shattered perfectly
when the time came,
just like he knew that I would,
and the sighs are tiny echoes
of the hurricane disaster
that is my love for him

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