Siren Song

When you were exiled, you were

Then a child, holding your breath

For a while, molding your death

And I was watching you, sir.

The sirens sang blue and red

As your bruises stung my mood.

So dead, victims of a feud;

We waltzed from Hell into bed.

My wave crashed against your rock

As you splashed and drowned in rage—

A victim trashed and found on stage;

Wanting your heart, not your cock.

Two years is not very long;

You hear my “I still love you”

And you wear my sweater, too—

Why is wanting you so wrong?