He’s Theseus, lost in a maze
he says, "You’re beautiful,"
over beers with friends,
like whispers caught in the wind
he talks of Cuba,
dreams of late night coctails, dancing, puros
on the hot white sand.
He’s planning Christmas
at her favorite Italian spot,
as if love were a dish,
as if they could feast in Elysium
his glance feels like a stolen apple—
sweet, forbidden.
There’s another waiting,
her shadow always near.
she wears his heart.
even Ariadne’s thread won't lead him home to her.
Yet she wishes,
she stands like Andromeda,
weaving hope by moonlight,
hoping he’ll break free from his chains,
and choose her as his goddess,
like Orpheus, daring to look back.
