There once was a woman who loved a certain man
more than life; more than her own, in any case.
She was known to boast “I’d take a bullet for him”
but the opportunity was unlikely, and she remained
untried, left to let her brazen words lie unproven.
What might happen in the face of such devotion?
The question speculative and moot, at best- truth
less interesting than might be hoped; she lived,
he lived, there is no more. Nothing passed between.
They love in some alternative universe, a place
where they do not is somewhere else, perhaps
in this space, their love is unfulfilled, unreal.
Irony stays bitter only briefly, on the tongue
hope is alive, still thriving, better love concrete.