Song stresses

I climb into the womb
where swallows and nightingales
sing their tunes
of tragic loves and guilt gone bad
lilting verse of diverse men
and women come and gone and
then it hits me
I want to be
one of those
immortalized in prose
whose face will haunt
their future days
the one who they will come to say
he was the finest one I’ve known
a heart genuine
a gentle tone
and way about him
he knew my longings most intimate
without a word spoken
he touched me where I needed
whispered words
that fed my soul and seeded my desire
but I did not treasure
the measure which he took of me
my insensitivity
pushed him away

but even more I want to be
the one they ask to stay