By: Linda M Crate

trails of eros cling to
your lips
lisping some remedy beneath
indigo lined nights
cut with silver moonlight and the
gleaming jewels of a sunset’s
surrender,
you seem to forget that there’s more
to life than what you can do
with your libido;
a forgotten son of zeus
still trying to cling
to the idea that he’s important in the
realm of mortals,
but you’re not—
stealing away all of demeter’s children
i hope she buries you in a thousand
years of snow,
but being winter born you probably
wouldn’t mind that
so let apollo
burn you in the gaze of his most searing
gaze until your eyes are blinded like
cassandra’s;
and you are a prophet whose words
no one hears,
but unlike cassandra your words are full of
deceit and so like you one day they’ll
lay forgotten in a locked chest
thrown into the ocean
never
to resurface again.