Romeo And

What’s in a name?

A Romeo by any other repute would smell as sweet.

We were in the east, and I believed I was the sun.

Or at least, that I could be someone’s.

What’s in a face?

For even impish features would be quelled with that charm.

No snow-white skin to let those ruby lips stir,

Or pointed cheeks to catch the shine of those gemstone eyes.

What’s in a glance?

A stone-cold cynic melted with a single look.

Even secrets can’t rot in that blazing light.

What’s in a kiss?

Oh that my too solid flesh could resolve into adieu,

No parting words could be sweeter sorrow

If I’d married death herself with that embrace.

What’s in a Romeo?

A torn heart, all in ‘guise of a romantic.

I was fair Rosaline, not a precious “jewel”-ette.

The night of stars engulfed in a destructive fire.

What’s in a woman?

Not a Juliet, in need of her rescue.

Not a tender, weeping maid.

Just a rogue soul on a whim,

Alive as ever without that affable distraction,

Without ‘him’.