oh, to be a
delicate thing
in these feral waves;

i remember steady grounds,
veneered floors,
greek columns —
my hand pressed softly
in the small of your back;
fingers —
aching
for the slightest of touch,
i remember sunlight;
our hearts were
lighter back then.
oh how we were
the envy
of chaotic things
and lonely gods.

now,
look at this war
i'd waged for you
as termites
eat away
at those
sunlit memories;


what's the point of fighting
when the sea already
has swallowed
and spat poems
written from the
losing side
of this war:
a mess
of what used to be
a delicate love;
now,
i'll fit
all of these
heartbreaks
in a letter if i could —
leave it on your shore.


and i
loved you
so;
i remember you
loving me back, helen;
i remember
sunlight
and
happier times.


now this love
is a wreck
of a battleship,
sinking,
drowning
in the weight
of these sighs.

now this love
are embers
dressed
in all
the muted shades of blue.

now this love
is not delicate —

it's just
breakable.

it's just
broken.

and oh how we were
the envy
of chaotic things
and lonely gods.

we're two storms colliding;
and my lips lie here, in safety and stillness
where yours meet mine;

kisses rush like ether,
like saltwater filling the lungs
and yet, curiously,
i breathe

right here in the eye.

maybe this is helen of troy crossing the aegean sea,
knowing all too well the risks.
maybe this is the start of the trojan war.
maybe this is a greek epic —
untold,
unwritten,
and dissolving in the shores.

and maybe i know all too well the risks.

but some time between
last night's first kiss and
the honesty and the silence of the early mornings

i have become the ocean before the storm
and you, the ocean after it.

and darling, would it be so bad to stay here for a while

in this fleeting safety in your arms,
in this fleeting safety of the calm?

Out of the phoenix flame, a child appeared without a name
A cursed beauty lay, without direction or a way
Brought upon mortal men, to punish and condemn
But she as pure as winter snow, and little of evil does she know
Placed on this earth to adore, with a face that sent 1000 ships to war
Oh how the gods they mock, knowing how men will flock
To them it’s just a game, a simple pleasure to watch a flame
But her, she cries at night, and fears the grandeur of the light
As a Cleopatra Canna flower grows, of mixed beauty and pose
Afraid she may be picked, and behind a window pane restrict
Oh, how shall this cursed beauty be? Perhaps a life of mystery
She hides behind a veil, and holds her tongue when needing to exhale
For the intellect and compassion sought, by anxious men whom she fought
Was lost, and fell upon deaf ears, and only expressed through her tears
How shall history perceive? As nations condemned to grieve
Through princes and prophets the same, orchestrating a dangerous game
All in effort to win her devotion, they cross the vastness of an ocean
But why, is the question that we should ask, for beauty does not last
Perhaps this is how the gods are entertained, for her beauty cannot be contained
She’s granted to suffer through this life, filled with rivalries and strife
When will she know peace? After the deaf admirers cease
A beautiful fool, would be ideal, all she has to do is kneel.
But, she chooses to walk, as those around stand and gawk
Fire born, to earth she shall return, reborn again as a fern.
And hope that in the next life she might, be left alone to enjoy the light