And then, lying deep inside you, I wait
to be kissed. But your face is pressed into
the wet grass, fast asleep. You are deadweight
under me. Is twenty minutes all you
have to offer? I was just warming up.
Tsk. I was born in Crete, far to the east.
A beast-like child. “They will fear you, worship
you,” father said. But he wasn’t a beast,
only a fiend. I was Mino’s Bull.
My real name is Asterion. Theseus,
wake up. You are seeping and flooded, full
of my love; fagged and shagged, fashed and lifeless.
Child of clay, I want another tumble.
I want to make the ground scream and rumble.