BY JAMIE HAN
That night, I found you in my room, a story on your tongue
of how you’d broken the moon’s shell against your teeth
and let the yolk run cold down your throat.
‘It was like swallowing gold,’ you said.
Tell me darling, how did eternity taste as it passed through
your lips? Was it as sweet as you imagined?
The sky was dark for days and the people in our town
called it murder, they told tales of how you devoured the moon,
Ripped apart the pale flesh of her underbelly, without wincing
at the sight of her blood. They say you are evil;
the horns which protrude from your forehead,
Act as testament that you are no child of any righteous god.
Tell me darling, are you the monster they say you are?
It is winter now, months have passed since anyone last
Saw you. They claim it a victory and grow fat, feasting
on meat and liquor, like they have driven some terrible beast out.
I remember how they loved you once, the hero, the prodigal one.
But they say now, even the light bends away from your touch.
Tell me darling, is it cold where you are?
Tonight, I find you in my room. I almost don’t recognize you.
Devilish horns shining in the low light, skin casting the ethereal glow
of a deity. The moon is in your eyes.
You cup the stars in your hands and tell me, ‘drink’.
The stuff turns to sea foam in my mouth.
It tastes sweet.