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.