My next lover will not be as my last. I'll not let myself be courted by charming fools who only have inklings of all that I have been, am, will, and could be. Like clockwork, they will stand and smile and slip around my questions; and like clockwork, they will turn on one another like ravenous animals and rehash exposed history; and like clockwork, I will choose one, naturally imperfectly, naturally rough-hewn, and naturally passionate only for them to be eliminated before they even truly got a chance; and like clockwork, my one chosen companion will decompose back into the natural world and two perfectly chosen, perfectly matched, and perfectly, manufactured, passionate will emerge in front of me. Come on, darling, just choose one of these two to be my replacement, they're who we chose together. I promise I'll leave as soon as you do. My next lover will not be as my last.
My next lover will not be as my last. I'll not let men unknown to me choose someone to lead me, blind, through the dark to a future, not even they can completely decipher. Like clockwork, they will come with their banners and their newest champion glowing like a fresh-faced monarch; like clockwork, I will fall for the pomp and circumstance and grow enamored with the body dressed up in the finest clothes money can buy; like clockwork, our three month engagement period will come to an end with my beloved promising me the world and I will forget to ask how exactly the world will be delivered to me; like clockwork, I will receive nothing, the promised wedding gifts caught up by the mincing arguments of the same men who appointed my love. Give me an extra four, darling, I promise you I'll get you everything I said I would. My next lover will not be as my last.
My next lover will not be as my last. I'll not let my love take hold of my tongue and re-spin my words, weaving thorns where I had flowers. Like clockwork, we will see someone else with flowers, beautiful and rich and deeply colored; and like clockwork, my lover will slice this person's palms and present these flowers to me; and like clockwork I will ignore the hot, thick blood streaking down across the backs of my hands; and like clockwork, my love will tell me that I desperately needed those flowers and that they tried to bargain for them, and that in the end, the only way was to take them by force. I think we should keep an eye on their house, darling. They might have more flowers and you know how desperately we need to fill out our garden. I'll get you some more roses, darling, I promise. My next lover will not be as my last.
My next lover will not be as my last. I'll not let my face be marred by someone who knows not who I am, what I need, and least of all, what I desire. Like clockwork, they will turn their gaze on me myself and see all my imperfections, my bulging midsection, and plain face; and like clockwork, they will attempt to curtail my wilderness and re-forge my outlook, to chip away my edges and make me feel that I did not exist before they came; and like clockwork I will believe every one of their sweet lies and reexaminations of history; and like clockwork, I will remember all that I promised those who came to me in earnest, with true and unbridled love in their hearts. We can't imagine helping all these people, darling they'll overrun our house. Just let me deal with them, I promise I'll figure something out. My next lover will not be as my last.
But if you believe that you will be different, come forward. Keep in mind, that my next lover will not be as my last. And I will not be like yours.
