Eyes wide. Enamored with your
motion. Arms, legs, your skull
shaking away distractions of the crowd.
Hear me shout your name, feel
my love you, pushing you to the limit.
I am joyful, and yet jealous, as I watch
your fingers brush the sky.
After you’ve basked in your glory,
you return from the battle field and
rest near me. Little birds and Hermes duplicates
speak to you behind my back. I enforced it,
but the outcomes break my heart.
You do not want me.
I flee into the night, and hiding in the moonshadow,
weep into the steps of my sanctuary.
Coming out of the night, my back turned to you
for good this time. Yet, messengers
still urging me to give you another chance.
Is this what I wanted? All this time?
This mercy, this grace, coming into sight
with the slow rise of the moon.
With a tilt of my head, I see
that you are not occupied
and we step into the darkness
through the trees.
There is barely a moment before you say,
“come here,” and pull me to you.
Surrounded, encircled, warmed
by your tired limbs, wrapped in your arms.
I can hear your heart beating, my head
on your chest, your words soothing in my ear.
As we stand in the shadows—intimate, kissless
—my eyes flutter closed and I grow faint.
The world fades; there is only this embrace,
this spinning of only you and me. Only this moment.
The moon creeps out of the evergreens
and the fog crawls under our collars:
we shiver; speak; walk; breathe
in the cold twilight, between branches.
Pain becomes euphoria: with chattering teeth
we laugh. When the night ends this battle,
when I feel drunk or high or something
(the reaction of second chances),
when I have found mercy.