by Christos Polydorou
What hello? What goodbye?
Your deep-sea green eyes
You were so surprisingly
fucking beautiful! And when you opened
all manner of butterflies flew out,
a Pterosaurs. Metaphors
of your wisdom. Symbolism
of your genius. English
was your second
(or maybe third) language so you were always focused
on what you would say next. It made
your left eye-lid twitch.
God, I needed you. I wanted to throw myself across the kitchen.
I wished to leap over the tree
you took that morning
in your big hairy arms, when I found you
taking photographs of trees. “Just
like you do,” you said.
I asked you,
flat out, are you a man? You said, “Yes.” Then
a couple of months later,
You fell in love with another man – not me – and moved with him
to Oxford, to sleep in the same bed, and
turn water into wine.
Looking out into the world. Alone. I
Because I want more.
Not you, anymore.
My kingdom, for more.