If we were defined by the classics
According to the legends of the 12th century
the Holy Grail was the chalice Jesus drank from
at the Last Supper
It's said to be able to cure not just physical illness, but spiritual sickness as well
I whispered that to you two weeks ago, in the darkness of your bedroom
before we lay down on your navy sheets
to find our own antidote in each others' bodies
Maybe you could be a knight, or King Arthur, I thought,
though I knew if that were true
then I might be Guinevere, and destroy your kingdom through my sin
No, you said you believe that
I am the Lady of the Lake
here to save you, an unworthy Galahad
No, I told you that
I am the stone holding you captive, Excalibur,
you deserve to be set free to serve your glorious purpose to this world
No, you said that
we are the heart of Lancelot
locked in a constant moral battle only ever cured by death
Maybe once upon a time that would have been true, however
we are not one, we are not halves to a whole
If Lancelot were so lucky to have us pump blood through his veins, then he'd end up
ripped into pieces
I want to twine my body around yours
get my legs and arms tangled up in all of you
mend the illness in both of us
fight the feudal lords and unite the serfdoms
hold you until it doesn't hurt any more
figure out some way to create a constant heartbeat
before you realize that
I am not the Lady, I am the Lake
I am not your Savior
I am not even a part of the story
Someday you will find her.
And she will accompany you on your quest
helping you drink from that golden cup
And I will flow on, knowing that
you'll never think to drink of me.