helen:ic promises . . .

a thin blazing-red headband perches on
un r ul y mouse-brown hair
and your november-grey eyes
stay wide as apples
as if you still believe that you're only here
because of some happy accident

you can say any (n o)thing
your tongue is numb from being
::like your nerves::
and your breath goes in and out
sharply, shortly
in staccato rhythm
off-setting the drum-beat
of your newly clichéd heart

the olympian clouds part
majestically, as if from a command
from artemis
the goddess' blinding sun-beam smile
knocks you to your knees
and your m.i.s.e.r.y-grey eyes catch his
herculean complex

greek tragedy wins, diamonds
on trial;
watermelon-flavored tears
seep into your mouth
and he asks,


. . . last for(n)ever