He is so beautiful
as he breathes, deeply, trusting
that I am his silver love
his love of story and of
proclamation
but I
unwittingly rise
my need, lashing
as snakes to medusa
to prove my lack.
So
silently I grasp
the potion given and sigh
with this groaning need I give him
what I should, what I wish
but then consume him
twisting , my hope rejects
the desire, aborts beauty
and hides away
away
silently in the dark
where this stain belongs.
I will leave him.
with this groaning need I give him
the beauty he desired that I found otherwise.
waking he will find
a halo of hair not
resembling his fear
instead spread gently
as arranged love
silver as desired.
February 2001