Goddess Mysterious


And I speak to you
in rounds and bouts
regurgitating, in and out
my lines, on this stage
we both share
with everyone else,
much to our dismay

and to you,
I strip the skin and muscle
off my spine as if to say
"here is my Achilles heel"
because I love you, my friend
and that is how I do
love you.

And in exchange
you tell me stories
of the gods.
The men
they loved,
the women they chased
About the goddesses too,
the kings and warriors
they sought
and turned into
beautiful creatures
of the sea and the night.

And I wonder if
you spot the same patterns in
the indentations of my storyline,
the messy manuscript of my life
the endless
revisions and editions
of my stories
you seem to have
a high tolerance for.

But after
I give you your well deserved
oohs and aahs
and
“please tell me another one”
I find myself
standing sitting eating
or even sleeping beside
a heroine like no other
bereft of a weakness-
of a secret
Only because I do not know of them-
yet.

And I wonder
why your stories are so
when every word
I tell you
is a petal off
my only rosebud
and every story
you tell is a bouquet
of parchments
from the greatest of  libraries.

Tonight,
as I watch your slow invagination
into dream.
Your delicate spine
lies naked, vulnerably horizontal.
I trace vertebrae after vertebrae,
across the great country
of your skin
of your soul
and find the why your stories are so-
why your stories are so-
why your stories are you.

Because you are Hera,
relentless, vengeful

You are Daphne-
leaves grow from your fingers

You are Echo-
the shame of Narcissus

You are Aphrodite-
mother of Cupid

You are Athena-
wisdom warrior

You are Goddess.
You are glorious.
You are woman!

And even to gods,
that remains a mystery.