Villanelle: Words and Stones

                   the stones they threw at your heart
            Grew soft on you and gifted with hearing. Rilke, Sonnets to Orpheus

You say I’m nothing but a great big flirt,
(Lordy Land-a-Goshen-sakes alive!),
but the stones you’re throwing at my heart don’t hurt.

My heart melts to a chocolate-tort dessert,
my pulse-rate quickens into overdrive,
when I see a likely chance to be a flirt.

You stole my pants, so now please take my shirt!
I’m trained to work my flirt from nine to five.
That’s why the stones you’re throwing at my heart don’t hurt.

Only Jesus can the vengeful will avert
of those who want to stone the girl alive
who dares one time to be too big a flirt.

And dodging rocks is what jolts me alert,
and makes me seize the day and strain and strive,
and keeps it so your stony heart can’t hurt.

I want to be where you are. I’ll assert,

that one who lives apart from all can't thrive.
I’ll say I’m nothing but a great big flirt,
with my feather-down-soft heart. I can be hurt.