What of the conjure?
Could its hips trick this
whisper on your lips
to end our tryst? For
nothing more than one
word mouthed did you give
to loud illusion
music enough in
moments our heads failed
what thoughts lips expressed
with kisses tongues filled
our pairing twisting
with such conniving

precision what knives
wish tricked knavish men
into listening
this epitasis
taking from mystics
lightning their silence
kindled translating
relics of its sparks
into languages
making travesties
of miracles pale
faces fagged-out in
made-up snow fade on

whitewashed stages old
flames in fake lashes
have stretched thin fashion
ransoming of its
victims the cost of
playing us pages
of lovers’ complaints
saying this heartache’s
pain is only just
the road leading to
the catastrophe
of gods and monsters
jealousy what binds

us to them ever
since fates with selfsame
thread and quaking hands
frayed the sheets of this
bed we share unmade
by envious love’s
cold retribution
crowded when faithless
Phthonus wakes us from
Aphrodite’s false
promises and we
find Nemesis next
to us ending this.