The Sting

That glance 
Stole the pin
Hand grenades and hearts
Fantasy fleshed into
Open flirt, height of incredible

Monogamy, slave master
Too good to be, true in my head
Making the puppet show
One string danced tonight

Crossroads and cracked knuckles
Loosened by that second
Eyes dished out adultery
Springing from wells, self-tainting

One chosen, or stained glass
Fragment into more reeling
As I spin in my webbed skull
The fly, the spider, and suicide