Said Orpheus to Eurydice

We could, you know, just stay here, in this summer, until our teeth
fell into our golden palms, rotted out
from the sweetness of our hands, mirrored on each other’s skin.
We could lie down in this bed of our own neglect, 
let the tangled grass be our wedding quilt, the birds our witnesses
and the world would know that we were whole, 
tied up with each other.

We’ll wait. We’ll live off of each other’s mouths, drink the water
falling from the open sky  and pooling in the breakable place
between shoulder and throat. We can let the seasons fold around us: 
Winter will make an exception of our love. No cold can touch us here, 
no frost can cover my palms as they reach for you. 
We’ll turn this spot into a monument for this love, and for all the times we invoked it
as we took each other to the grave.

In all this nothing, this dark womb that cradled you and kept you
from me, I’ll swim across a river of husked souls
walk for years in a place I do not belong
to bring back the parts of myself I left inside of you.

I’ll fool the king of Hell with the songs that brought you to me,
hoping to play the same trick twice, and you’ll come, like you can’t help it.
We’ll walk out of here together. I’ll lead you back to our elysium
the summer that Death couldn’t touch.

Will you sit among the fig trees with me, 
or else hide here in my blind spot, and linger in the shadow of my devotion?
Will you follow as I take you back
to a place where you were not happy?