untitled 2

an erinys hath shited her gaze,
towards the window-pane above thy bed-frame,

as apollo descents from his crest,
shadows and veiled nooks and crannies morphing and twisting;
a watch-dog lowering her guard from exhaustion.

does thee agonise over who must hath beckoned her?
it would serve thee well to do nothing more henceforth,
than to scamper like a lowly beast,
endlessly from forest to forest,
port to port, haven to haven.

may thine every waking moment be torturous.