I better remember your kiss
Than the taste itself.
Perhaps it was purple velvet:
It was a death worth dying for.
I better feel your hands that
Must have just returned from a trip
To the north pole:
It was bright red.
I better smell the sulfur from
My wounded heart.
You've must have just returned
From those pits.

None of this is fair though.
I made you, without permission,
My warrior with Greek blood.
You were my Achilles.
This way and that.
You were all and null.

I better write you a midnight sonnet.
It will survive where our love didn't;
With honesty.