You didn't ask, but it happened.
I'm not sure why.
We were both creatures locked up in the obscene, reaching
for Cassiopeia.
Now one of us a chained
Prometheus
staring into a widening, pretentious ¡yawp!
There's something brewing beneath the silver
of your eyes, like Iceland's
magmatic, sulfuric
like its unending
immortal—
Your awkward way
such a Dionystic, such
an anachronistic—
It's kind of fiendish.
My friend,
your way is a fiend
and something alien
something twisting
something serpentine
Something delightful
and something unknowing.
Your way, embellished
like the scene in some
ironically disrespectful
avenue to the gods,
Cantoring our way into the obsessive
the unclimactic
the life
Your treat
They say it's because you acted that way
I say it's because you are that way
So inviting--
So delusive??
