Meant to be?

I can speak my own demise
and decide
whether or not to get behind
this tantamount desire
to go about with,
as one would say,
the precocious ironies of my independent nature.

This girl, she breathes
smoking desire
over her profound lips
a withstanding of sorts,
in modeling
any one of her
condemning flaws.

As if she stands
for anything greater,
her life wouldn't be bitter,
yet the noise and sound confounds her.
And sound, as we all know
is the bane of our keen eardrums.

Her delights are intentional,
and meant to be harmless.
But what delights can she have,
when decisions become pointless?

No real future awaits her,
only the future her dreams promise.
And in the reality of a day
night can take over
and carry it all away.

The ideal woman

Who is she?
The girl with the full lips
Daunting hips,
With whom takes your imagination on an endless lusty journey.
She taunts me, licks her lips in
satisfaction at her great prowess,
laughing at my futile attempts to
procure your affections.
Oh she angers me.
For your choice is least resistent to the soft gloves she uses to
manipulate your wanton will.
She's a bitch you know?
Do you care? No.
When you see me
you watch the fly on the wall,
a disgusting atrocity!
Even though you know
Deep down, inside,
I'm all you'll ever need.
It's a fear you'll never hide.
She's a figment of an ideal you will tire of.
She is not blood, she is not bone,
she will not care if you don't come home.
But if one day you choose to love only me,
In my heart you'll find her, where she really wants to be.