My Apollo

I never expect your arrival.

There is no chariot of gold

or sounds of trumpets,

no rush of flames or horses.

You sear right into my path

burning holes where you spread,

treading through this life of mine.

I cry because you glow

drawing lightning with your eyes,

your bow, and yet you reek

and are drenched with pain.

Astounded, I wait for you,

your shimmering form of flickering fire

seduction oozing from your pores

air bending at your heat.

I won’t give in, not again

the maiden I am, was, should be.

You stole what was mine, yet

how was I to know not to play with fire?

A god you must feel strong,

but I know where your heart roars

encased in that steel ice

for all to see, but never touch.


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