Nor have I fear of death which ends my trials,
Yet wish my lover had a longer life,
If not, we two shall perish in one breath.                        
— Ovid

It was never himself
that he loved
to pursue
but the one he had found
in the depths
of that shadowy pool,

where kneeling, almost lost
in his reflection,
he sighed
and ran his fingers
down his chest,
along a thigh,

remembered how his words
came back to mock him,
yet cried out
for the one
behind the veil 
the silent one
    so deep
    so cold
    so perfect

he could never understand
or look away.

 

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