Pterosaurs

by Christos Polydorou

2011-01-01 00.19.05
What hello? What goodbye?
Your deep-sea green eyes
devastated me.

You were so surprisingly
fucking beautiful! And when you opened
your mouth

all manner of butterflies flew out,
and birds,
and once,

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.
And me?
Looking out into the world. Alone. I

cry.
Because I want more.
Not you, anymore.

Something else.
Something more.
My kingdom, for more.
2011-01-01 00.20.57

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