southbound

There’s everything reassuring about the journey southbound.
No matter the home I’ve left behind.
Some fast starling freedom as the trees fly;
I slip-stream off the current of the rail,
skim close enough to danger –
a hair-prick thrill – just close enough to bristle,
thrill-seeker, Daddy’s little girl.
That sang-froid you so lack.
Learn to cultivate the fine art of being a bitch,
protectrix of the vulnerable and guileless.
Don’t and you’ll get fucked without the foreplay.
Southbound love straight to winged chariot;
Hermes does not call you.
It is of your own volition now –
a cult of followers, would-be, could-be lovers –
and you pick him, least worthy.
All the garden’s goddesses gossip of you Ares’s lover, his anger.
Eros born, the job is done, set the louse in the world.
What have we done?
Arrows pricking hearts, such pain, pointed bitter embrace –
    to the point.
Pretty to regard anyway;
your dark waves; my lyre bow pout
pink creamed cherubin cheeked
your Moorish dark passion –
love didn’t stand a chance.
We set it up, you set me up, us up.
Trickery, hermaneutics. I should have known better.
Check your winged heels Hermes –
Ares will get you yet.
He comes, God of War, throwing anger from his fingers,
white-lightning quick from such see-through blue eyes.
I wouldn’t piss on you if you were on fire.