Finally the dial has moved its shadow
to punish my careless scandals.
You tell me it is not too late
while burgundy drips
from your white lip.

When we fled Actium, I felt
that thrill we get from
running in thick darkness down the
muggy streets of Alexandria,
clutching one another’s hands, dressed up
like peasants, the wine
grasping our veins so tight, it
rivals the clasp of your fingers.

But now the wine spills from
your mouth, stinging my eyes
like a pearl in vinegar.
You will always be my
fierce warrior, and this
is my fault, my fault.

Tomorrow Nathifa brings to me
an asp obscured by autumn’s alms-
the living wombs of figs will bear
death for me beside my lover

so we can share an earthly tomb,
so we can take the heart of Egypt
with us to the afterlife
and watch our sacred souls
unite to reign forevermore,
while our bodies peel away
and slough off
and are carried by rain
into the winding Nile.