Ariadne


The last man's last breath shall be drawn
before he or any other
unravels the maze of a woman's heart.
He shall find himself
trapped
In a dusty corner
Or a soundless expanse with no corners at all
as he wonders which way is up
as he wonders what the sky looks like
//He has forgotten it over time//
As he wraps golden thread around his thumb and forefinger
Feeling its warmth
as if from a woman's blood that adores
Touching only the warmth of his own bleeding fingers
Fooling him
And giving him man's boorish confidence
as he walks the same path he walked yesterday,
and the day before,
and the day before that
Thinking the miles ahead are few
until his only companions
are the flies.

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