The Muse of Apollo
Everything you touch bleeds a faint gold.
Your smile radiates sadistic warmth,
and getting close to you is ever blissful pain.
Your smell is rich and inviting - it reeks of laurel and ginseng.
Every inch of you is divine.
And every inch of me is yours.
I wake up each morning warmer than the last,
Golden is the light I bathe in,
the beat of your heart envelopes and soothes me,
and when you run your piano playing fingers down my back,
my walls are torn down.
Even my nights are under your domain.
The moon and stars dangle dimly in the center of your room,
they put up no fight to the light you emit.
I come home full of stress and ache.
You untangle my ailments and part strands of sweat soaked hair, lulling me into a deep sleep.
Your words are luscious and thick as honey,
they coat my ears and trap echoes of your voice inside.
Your lips play sweet harmonies that charm my insecurities,
letting my emotions pour onto your chest until I am left barren and empty.
How was I to know that your heart was cold as gold?
That your lyre played falsetto tones?
You were golden ambrosia,
a taste that tore me from iris to achilles heel.
You poured your venom into my vacant breast leaving nothing but deceitful warmth.
I let you into my heart and bathed in all your light.
I let my eyes bask in all your glow.
I thought my tears tainted your olive skin, but you relished in it.
Perversely consumed it like nectar from the gods.
I gave you my soul and you caged it like a dog, toying with it as you saw fit.
You were a brilliant muse of aurous poison.
I became the victim of your sick love,
Letting you sink your candied fangs into my thighs.
And still, you wanted more;
to strip me down and make me beg for all of you.
It took all of me and more to give you up.
Now I let silence seep into my pores,
Let your thick worship wash from my throat,
Let your canary cry hollow from my ears,
Let your shimmering stars dry from my eyes.
Now I feel blind without you,
Your warmth no longer suffocates me,
Your scent no longer engulfs me.
I know the snakeskin you wear;
The problem is,
I don't know how to look at you and not love you.
Illustration: Jena Williams
Written By: Johnathon Yee