I get lost beneath the cold tide,
Who makes love to the moon each night.
Preaching fidelity,
And beating me over the head with it
Like stones.
I remember late night suppers
With Dionysus.
Twice we spoke.
And kissed.
And drank.
So much so that I forgot
The Moon.
A single, solitary hour
Cradling the columns and fore walls
Of my love.
Like ingrown hairs.
Today I walk,
Regardless,
As if regret were a mangled foot,
So overcome by the tides
That sometimes
I can’t help but
Fall under.
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