Odd

You sit next to her. Arms not touching.
Her face reflected in your brown, taciturn eyes.

That night seems like a long lost memory.

I take refuge in needles.
And your caresses are summoned like Helen's ghost.

Mephistopheles, Fiend!

Complacence

There was a king. His was a small territory.
There were swarms of angels floating by to keep his dream alive.
And he refused to get out of his melancholic slumber.

Period

Figure.
I would want to know if it was.
But I wish I didn’t have to.
For, one had all the fixtures in mind. So I swished and twirled to the rhythm, and an incomprehensible language. And I walked by, for the whiff of stale smoke. I tasted salt on your skin and fought with the ghosts of your past. It was over, you said. And I brushed it off with my nonchalance (at least I wished to).
I killed you.
Even Tiresias couldn’t prevent it.
And I failed, even at making stories.