When we met you said you were dangerous,
A word like licking knife blades, razor sharp;
Dancing in silk slippers on an icy-slick roof-edge.
You said it to sound dark and brooding,
A walk on the wrong side of the tracks.

But I think what you really wanted,
Was to be thought a broken bird,
Songless and sinking in sorrow’s sea
You wanted someone to care for you,
And worship at your cathedral of pain.

I wonder what you would do
If I looked directly at you
And told you that--
Oh, you innocent child! --
You are not dangerous, or
Even broken.
You are lonely.