Blood on Cupid’s Arrow

There is blood on Cupid’s Arrow
From where I yanked it from my heart
I refuse to fall in love again
It makes for extremely painful art

With the point of my arrow as sharp as my jaw,
my draw back and backtalk are equally as piercing.

I wish I had an arrow to befriend
A slender beauty with veinlets etched
in gold
In which tales flowed
of battles unresolved— songs of wars
that it had never fought
Bearing a blade forged from flames
envied by the crescent that rips its way
through the dark

I would choose it out the nameless others
patient in the quiver
and show it off to the winds
Watch the sly sun kiss it’s carvings
her nimble fingers swirling about
—it’s rich purple sepals
and their unwavering grace
I would let it touch the worn-out bow
that, voiceless, had words to scream
in vales, and in dens

levelling its fletching with the callous string
I would pull
— oh, moors ahed, and moors behind
moors beneath, and all inside—
It’s unblemished tip smirking up the yonder
Slaying all voids in the way
— oh, born an icy weapon
unborn still
I wish I had an arrow to befriend

I would let free the trapped string
impatient, always, to flea
and watch the moon lurking beneath the day
Watch him brutal,
— watch him cold
As if expecting lightening to
sprout out of my eyes
Utter a silent curse I would
Knowing I could not add to his bruises

I would feel a star burning
by the edge of my eye
My bird soaring towards its doom
and into the moors,
I would sublime
—

I close my eyes against the sun
grasping
for the bright of my blood
that lurks, lurks
beneath the shadows
of my gaze—

grasping,
and grasping still—

I wish I had an arrow to befriend

The sturdy wood protrudes from my shoulder,
My fingertips trace the engraved cylinder
As my eyebrows come together in confusion.

The moon cries,
It’s tears sweeping into the cracks of the cement.
The sliver words shine in the light,
My eyes ache as it stings my eyes.

It reads words of condolences,
Listing lies and regrets,
Ones that have not occurred yet.

I curled my hand around the bark
And pull out the arrow.

I see why they are sorry now.
My knees are cushioned in the soft grass,
My shoulder contrasted this pleasant comfort.

You shot me with your apologies,
Knowing what would happen if I would not accept them.

But now your quiver is empty,
No more apologies sink into my skin.
For the job is finished.