Unrequited
Don Pesavento, July 2009
a bull's-eye at which many
eyes have thrown darts of love
and always missed their mark
a moving target only a marksman
can scope in the cross-hairs
of his rifle which misfires
an object of desire just beyond
reach, a grail from which
your lips will never drink
a treasure map X that marks her
phantom island, off which you drift
like a ship without a sail
a big-game trophy which turns
on you, the hunted, wounded
by her black eyelash arrows.
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