I want you burned deep inside me,
in furious truth,
that would make the blind see
there are no absolutes
but the love that we feel
day by day,
cold as steel
forged in pale fire, that our love may have weight.
For it weighs quite a lot
in your eyes, sparkling fire,
to transform to what’s sought,
what the boudoir requires,
and still it is more:
it is flesh; it is hot:
yes, it weighs quite a lot.
And I melt in frustration
at your knowing glance
that nothing but passion
can’t be looked at askance,
and still I am more than just restless for love
as I write with spilled ink
when red push comes to shove,
I stop in my pleasures and rest just to think.
He had the blood of shadows on his floor
and shelves and shelves of books along his wall
with odes to bloody deeds taped on his door
and pairs of softened rugs on which to fall.
But how shall I begin to tell the tale
of our own King of Red on Randall hall?
I fear my task will be to no avail—
And as you see, I have begun to stall.
But if I know a thing about The Red,
it is that he has many fires alight,
from dreams of business-owning in his head
to plans of cashing stocks to much delight.
Alas, his plans excluded our dear school,
and so he left without a word, much like a fool.
they tell me in school that μῦθος
just means word,
any spoken thing
that escapes the teeth’s barrier.
but you tell me with every word,
every spoken thing to their word.
that flies in my face s
that μῦθος means story s
spun out of threads e
that you reweave every morning n
to cover up the unraveled l
destruction of a sleepless night. u
You dream during the day, f
you dream aloud, h
myth and word and story t
exploding from the cupid’s bow i
above your twisting mouth a
and hitting the heart, f
scattering suitors, n
stringing up sluts for their u