When it arches its neck and
Screams your name, it’s
yours, for that one instant.
When it tears away and
pulls you back, then
It’s yours forever.
Stay right there.
Take its hand.
Take a chance.

‘There was no way to foretell this
would happen,’ it said,
wings furled,
touch soft, translucent in the streetlights.
‘No way to tell,’ you repeated,
Like you were mocking, and gently,
It ridiculed itself, hushed laughter
Making the stars tremble where they tread,
And turn their backs on the world.
‘Take my hand,’ it said
And you took it.

So keeping close, here
Keeping closer,
Is like playing pool with a cephalopod:
You can’t win
But you can’t lose, either.
Is this all you do with your life?
Throw octopoda onto green felt, then skewer them
With pool cues, then leave,
Go home, and
Skewer your angel man-bride?

‘That’s enough,’ you said, and went home.