What Else Could I Do?

When he desired me

my lead heart

turned in my chest

orienting itself

to his gaze.

This weak force

that has no name

the gap between

desire and the object

that boils space

only until it touches

then chills and dissolves

in the inevitable

disappointment

of the real.

And so I’m flattered

by his terror

of disillusion

until entropy

reigns supreme.

What else could I do?