Becoming Mythological

The minutes of the day tick off—falling from their black frets between the Roman numbersonto the kitchen floor.And it makes you uneasy

the way I sneak up behind you,rest my chin inside the hollow of your shoulder . . .Someone should do something about this

sudden unexpected silence,it comes to us from across the sea . . .

from the blue tile roofs of Mykonos,the island where Zeus battled the Titansand won.

Last night, you brushed your hair 100 timeswhile I tried to read the tattooetched across the nape of your neck . . .

a message from the gods

is all you told me it said.