It's still shocking, to say the least,
The things you said the other night.
You spoke of dreams and stars;
The sun and moon,
But don't think that such things will make me swoon
And fall into your waiting arms,
Like apples bucked on apple farms.
I shan't laugh to your query, but please understand, dearie,
That I'm not some piece of fruit hanging, dangling, upon a wiry branch.
Does that make you some farmer? Hmm?
A grower in a garden?
A planter at his plot,
Or sower of seeds
With hopes and wants of crops,
My feelings,
On which your palette desires to feed?
That's what you meant with your "avowal of greed,"
Is it not?
Of course it is.
Your impressions and your wonder are flattering,
But don't think that simply chattering
Can impress a girl like me.
As far as I can see,
Yours is still a simple crush
That's fragile,
Delicate,
Easy to hush
With simple words like mine,
And all I can divine
Is that you're no different than the other
Stallions who act like colts with pleasant words. Don't bother
If the truth of how I really am,
Slams and crashes, dulls or smothers,
The daytime fascinations and hopeful implications of
Showy acts like candlelit dinners and public displays of affection.
I'm going to quiz you, so do pay attention.
You talk of greed like you're to know,
Because of things like heritage,
And past transgressions of your dragon's blood.
Well truth be told I find that garbage.
I work with fabrics and gems and baubles,
Shiny things
That turn unicorn, earth pony and pegasi
Into flocks of magpies,
Seeking beauty in things they can see,
And touch, and show off as they please.
To feel important and brag and are self-empowered thus, to nag
About what beauty is, and
Isn't.
What I find stunning, simply blinding,
A thing that I can put no price,
By tag or auction,
Is your devotion.
The little things that you do.
Not spending all those bits you saved, that were paid
By your sweat and effort.
Though still admirable in any case.
But filling a glass with water when I'm thirsty.
Making me laugh when I'm sad,
Or depressed when a sale goes wrong or show awry.
Wiping my tears when I cry.
Those sorts of things
Make me smile and wistfully sigh.
While your Fire Ruby of peak perfection,
Is just a thing, your intention
Of giving me a gift from your selection
Will last beyond.
Beyond the time I chip and strip,
That mineral and earn bit by bit,
The worth that magpies want to get those other things.
But your sentiments will last beyond.
Who cares if I fall or you fall,
Or if either of us are caught at all?
Love is something that will last beyond.
Beyond future wrinkles or silvered mane -
Which like my smile, can you call, too, sugarcane? -
Your broken scales and growing pains.
What we can have can outlive them all.
Not for me, or for you,
But both of us.
You're starting to get my drift, I trust?
You act like there's some prerequisite
To approaching and letting me know
Your heart.
That the air around us is some guard,
At our command or beck and call,
That will heed some magic word to start.
You may have grown up amongst writers who were quite prolific,
But I don't need such words scientific.
I want who you are, not what you want to be.
Lest my waiting would go to waste,
Watching you grow with such impatient haste,
Aiming to be some perfect stallion
When who you are is Spike the Dragon:
A goofy youth with the sweetest charm
And wits about that even I
Envy; fully and sincerely.
You're tall, for sure,
And if that's your goal,
Congratulations.
But that doesn't mean you'll get the girl.
You're right, of course, of my sharp eye,
And how I see great things that others don't
From little ones - do you get my point, yet?
My heart's reply to your confession,
Is not some concession
To flowing words and acts of flourish
Of one single night,
Made possible by months of struggle
For one time under moonlight.
Such a silly boy you are, so cute and naive,
To think you've tricked me to teach you lessons,
Of proper manners and to be gentil,
That then you pulled from within your sleeve.
Because you'd be nothing but a hypocrite,
To say you've outwitted a fox like me,
Since to be a mare isn't just dainty femininity.
I've wanted for princes but have been left wanting,
Will you pursue me still? Knowing this? Despite any haunting,
Lingering doubts of what others will say?
Why do you care when others stare,
As though you're just acting on some dare,
And not by will or your own want?
I will not stay on some miniature planet for two,
As romantic as that may sound,
Not even for you.
I will simply be true,
To myself,
And who I will love,
Through storms, through
Good weather, through
Bad times and times better,
Thick and thin; sickness and health,
Poverty and wealth;
Any cards that are dealt.
Because that's what I choose,
To risk and lose
On a gamble of luck,
For what I love,
For who I love.
He'd be someone steady as rock,
By the way,
To keep me grounded,
As I climb ladders
And stairs
To heights ever higher...
...and I'll willingly fall if he's there,
With me,
Falling free,
Trusting we'll be caught,
But accepting if we're not,
Because I freely chose
Who to be with,
So long as he would choose,
Not urged by some desire,
Or driven by some impassioned fire,
Or wished or dreamed,
Or hoped to keep some memory
Of pleasantries, that's too passive for me.
Has what I'm asking for settled in, yet?
So then, have you been keeping score,
And taking notes?
How will you reply to my reply,
Now that you're tall, and can smile to my smile
And look me eye to eye?
Will you bore me with more words, or...?