Endymion
Life can’t compete.
Why trade lush dreams
for labor, moon-kisses
for the frustrations and fading
of ordinary love?
Neighbors see me spellbound,
sprawled. They click their tongues,
sigh, Shame and Such a handsome boy.
My parents beg priests
and physicians for a cure.
They don’t understand
I’m care-less. Free. Cool
soil soft against my skin. All
striving gone. Every night the silver
lady with her hands of light.
No comments:
Post a Comment