I'm an imperfection.
I'll get that one thing straight.
There's chips out of my paintwork
And if you hesitate
At scars and dents, then go,
don't meet my eyes-
just fly away.

(For knives are for their purposes serrated,
And knife-edged pity leaves its own sweet mark -
And if you were to stay for these excuses,
Your tone would simply stab me through the heart.)

To be honest,
I've never been sure just how I feel.
It's taken long enough
to figure out if this was real,
if I hadn't somehow crafted your smile
in bending cobweb-shadows 
on forgotten windowpanes,
if pixelated daydreams
hadn't conjured up your name.
It wouldn't be the first time -
fireworks are pricey now,
we tend to make our own.
And just your 'hey' could light the cities for a year.

Just as reassurance,
so you won't disappear:
Don't worry, there aren't voices
in my pretty little head-
just songs and picture-demons,
stories etched in inky red.
Everyone has dreams -
Mine are scripted.

Then you, and your girls...
The charming smile, the dimmer switch,
Your prey with crossfires on its back,
Your plans go off without a hitch.
But I'm me;
I'm not a number in your file.
So, skip the pentothal this time.
I'll make it worth your while

to drink coffee from cups of wicker,
watch midnights freeze, and sunsets flicker.
I could make the sun cloud over,
Or just hear your heartbeat quicken
In a field someplace wherever;
a makeshift bed of five-leaf clover.

Just one last catch, or so to speak;
I'd recommend you lose that doll,
Though plastic lips beside your cheek
Can seem to breathe as humans could.

(The question, then, is if they should.)

Oh, one last word, before I'm gone -
I've heard that love can stop a heart.
Don't meet her lips with yours again...
and I might let it restart.