The one who seduced you, screwed you over, broke your heart in a million pieces, and laughed about it.

SUPERNATURAL

The old flame you don't see very often any more but whom you still really enjoy getting together with for a few drinks and maybe a pleasant nostalgic romp:

SUPERNATURAL S1-4

The mysterious dark one whom you used to sit up with talking until 3 AM at weird coffee houses and with whom you were quite smitten until you realized s/he really was fucking crazy:

SUPERNATURAL

The one you spent a whole weekend in bed with and who drank up all your liquor and whom you'd still really like to get with again, although you're relieved s/he doesn't actually live in town:

SUPERNATURAL

The steady:

SUPERNATURAL

The alluring stranger whom you've flirted with at parties but have never gotten really serious with:

SUPERNATURAL (if by not serious you mean TOTALLY SERIOUS)

The one you hang out with and have vague fantasies about maybe having a thing with, but ultimately you're just good buddies:

SUPERNATURAL S1

The one your friends keep introducing you to and who seems like a hell of a cool person except it's never really gone anywhere:

SUPERNATURAL (BUT IT WENT ALL THE PLACES)

The one who's slept with all your friends, and you keep looking at them and thinking, "How the hell did they land all these cool people?"

SUPERNATURAL

The one who gave you the best damned summer of your life and against whom you measure all other potential partners:

SUPERNATURAL (it was a spring, not a summer, but same idea)

The one you recently met at a party and would like to get to know better:

SUPERNATURAL (S7)

The old flame that you wouldn't totally object to hooking up with again for a one night romp if only they'd clean up a bit:

SUPERNATURAL (S1-2)

Your hot new flame:

SUPERNATURAL (S7)

The one who stole your significant other:

SUPERNATURAL

6.20, obviously.  He has been trying for a long time to make two unlike things understand each other.

The thing about teaching poetry to
fish is that they are not poetic.
You swim with them through eons
of hydrologic cycles, new fish,
same water. You bring your best,
hosannas of the seventh sphere,
the symmetric whisper of wings,
the canticles of the sun and stars.
Water slicks language from you
and disappears it among fins and
scales, bright things that only
know the sun refracted, dark, brief.

You find the last swimming
descendant of that gray crawler.
It is mouthing a swarm of krill.
Still - they are family, and you
know the language of blood.
Surely this fish is for Keats -
but Keats is all wings and wine,
and your fish objects, mouth
agape in a contemptuous breath
of water. Hafiz, then. The dark midnight,
fearful waves, and the tempestuous
whirlpool. But this is a deep-dweller,
and no human has written poetry in the
un-light of the Mariana,
and you cannot make them
remember each other.