That

'Someone.'

A song; that suit.
He's the flame; the sun.
He found me in the pile.
Or the shelf?

He makes me
Not just,
but a particular- the mirror ball that I play,
but the one I am.
Till then, was I ever?

Soft, darling, sheets,
mmm... music.
He knows well, and how!

He'll hold the door,
and a stun a tux.
He likes roses and the cliche;
both innocent &...

He tells me I'm a 12, in health and sickness.
Covered or not.



Pedestals, pedestals.
That hypothetical place exists in his world;
I'm on it

sometimes.




Like every story, it doesn't.
Though he is mine, I am not his.
Her name hides mine in the shadows;
it's not even the odds,
it's not a question.
Set.Match.
Now walk off the court.

Someone, please, drag me off.