Mesmeric Youth ✓

viii. MELINOE

MELINOE

MELINOE, MELINOE,
WHY DO I SEE HER?

petals scatter a meadow on my chest, a facsimile of her skin — " she used to trace her love with slick fingertips, mouths eclipsing in synodic conjecture. " her molten radiance still repletes my veins with innate aphrodisia.

MELINOE, MELINOE, WHY
DO YOU GIVE ME HOPE?

buoyant upon pine-scented wind she murmurs her name in my ear. hope is the projection of love for the future and yet her lilting cadence is a eulogy for memories wilted and bereft of life.

MELINOE, MELINOE,
WHY DO YOU PAIN
MY HEART SO?

she has dissipated into a pool of rainwater from which flowers burgeoned and obscured the sun. no longer does ambrosia daylight — " dare i say: intoxicating, voluptuous " leak through the apertures of curtains. perennial crepuscule pervades.

OH MELINOE, OH MOST
VILE AND ABHORRED
MELINOE, HER GHOST
REMAINS!

a/n: go forth and read my new story the language of flowers, i promise you won't repent! (i hope).