There were nights of motion, of wetness,
of weeping and pleasure, of ghasping for air.
Once, she lived in desire. She woke in the night
to the feel of you between her legs. You were
her Zeus, your hand sliding into her was a shaft
of moonlight melding her life to yours, creating in her
a divine pregnancy. The love you left there
was her salvation, her down fall.
Looking at you, no one would know your divinity.
She could see it from the moment she first saw you
standing outside her house in the snow, slamming
the door of a rusty truck, it’s creaking was
the sound of the muses that proclaimed your presence.
Months later, you left Perseus in your wake, her love
without a body to hold it, faltered, failed
to live up to the demi-god as it was formed.
Your Danae, with seven bite marks on her back
moves thru the world, different. The damage
you left, the bites, purple marks that you lift her shirt
to show another lover; the strange pattern of welts,
the shape of a whip at her hip. Feathering moonlight
between the legs every week, calling her back.