You had gone to dreams, a basalt lover poisoned by the wood of bible stained power. No sly smiled sphinx could turn the stoney medusa to dust with a lapis laden stare. No wandering Adonis would court this lonely aphrodite when the wine spilled onto the softer lips of chance staining the slik pillows and teasing caresses into sticky honeyed stings. The fruit of the pomegranete is sweeter than the bitter green tang of olive plump in the sun, but it only tastes sweet to the tortured tongue not grown accustomed to that life. You had drifted to dreams and there were seven tears to turn back, but Persephone rode the black horse of twilight, the night-mare, behind your eyes and cloven hooves and silvered wings scarped to reveal beaten statues and veins all too beautiful to cause harm; I watch from a distance, as Psoiden tosses you gaily on his stormy seas, and you writhe, a fool into the Sirens' golden grasp, I laugh, for I was not Circe enough to seduce your poinsoned wood-- no preserved in an eternal salty tomb, one mariner's song of bones that holds no great inphamy to the others.
I agree with cheshire on this; it's amazing, and I love the mythic greek theme. That first stanza, especially, is stunning. You've such a great talent... keep em coming! love love love!
