i held you in esteem
like a little marble statue
of a greek god.
you were my mythology.
you were so pure, and i believed it was eternal
& unyielding like those
tales of original heroes.
you were midas — everything was gold,
our love was touched by aphrodite herself,
as powerful and boundless as poseidon’s seas.
you were my mythology.
i ascribed to your tales—
fragments of your person glittering through
antiquated, spiritual figures.
i wondered how your soul could seem as old
and romantic as classical amazons,
with a face as young
and smooth
as worn marble.
you were my mythology.
