Post by Ramona on Jan 22, 2006 15:41:20 GMT -8
the epigone
I.
((antigone))
she dreams of icarus-wings
so he paints them there
gold-leaf-feather-tips fluttering
in the slight breeze.
the waft of spice flecks mingle on
tongues as she drinks her fill of him
and takes flight.
(he tastes of bleeding heart humility,
and burning bark.)
crashing, splatting, arms wide into
the sun she goes, and fractures in
many variegated sun-shards
falling back, he gathers her up
bearing her cuts like
fragmented window pane glass
on his own malleable body. the older ones
merely white cat scratches against his tan.
fastening her back together with an artist’s
touch, he breathes life into her again,
letting the wax drip-drip-drip in places where
their naked flesh meets.
(she feels like new trousers, taught and lax
in all the right places. she tastes like new
delphian spring.)
he craves to wed her to the ground
but one look, a small smile, has him
reaching for the paint pot again.
(he understands, memories are not hers
to keep.)
he, for all his wonders, cannot compete
with gods.
by Pseudomuse
I.
((antigone))
she dreams of icarus-wings
so he paints them there
gold-leaf-feather-tips fluttering
in the slight breeze.
the waft of spice flecks mingle on
tongues as she drinks her fill of him
and takes flight.
(he tastes of bleeding heart humility,
and burning bark.)
crashing, splatting, arms wide into
the sun she goes, and fractures in
many variegated sun-shards
falling back, he gathers her up
bearing her cuts like
fragmented window pane glass
on his own malleable body. the older ones
merely white cat scratches against his tan.
fastening her back together with an artist’s
touch, he breathes life into her again,
letting the wax drip-drip-drip in places where
their naked flesh meets.
(she feels like new trousers, taught and lax
in all the right places. she tastes like new
delphian spring.)
he craves to wed her to the ground
but one look, a small smile, has him
reaching for the paint pot again.
(he understands, memories are not hers
to keep.)
he, for all his wonders, cannot compete
with gods.
by Pseudomuse
