Apotheosynthesis

We crossed paths

at the open mic,

after the lecture

about Beowulf,

.

and the foundations

of English literature.

.

An hour about treasure,

heroes, and the monsters

they couldn't live without.

.

You stood regal

at the lectern,

established, fatherly.

.

My dad would like you.

.

Envisioning conversations

at the dining table,

pass the mashed potatoes,

and when are you going

to settle down?

.

Words eclipsing

the half-devoured moon,

a night with syllables

drenched with latte

and electricity.

.

I saw hazel eyes

and me pulled in.

Being consumed

like that moon,

.

sitting heavy above

us both.

Words hitting hard.

.

I felt it,

I felt you in them

you in me.

.

I couldn’t wait to get home

opening the book,

.

I would become

an expert on old English

literature. Read every essay

on the subject, everything.

.

You were breathtakingly handsome.

Older, but in the right way.

Dangerous, wrong

but not too wrong.

.

Like making out

with the guy

you just met.

.

In the back row

of Coriolanus

at the Shakespearean festival,

.

but I wouldn't know.

.

Wrong enough for the flame.

Implausible, but real

and smoldering.

.

Cindered enough to require healing,

and emotional support,

.

from my boyfriend, of course.

.

It would be safe,

but hot enough to tell my friends.

.

Texting into morning,

as dawn breaks beautifully,

against the resistance

to this anticipation.

.

Smoke settling

from a dangerous night,

ending star drenched

with cataclysmic fury.

.

When I woke

in your condo

after the conquest,

you were gone.

.

The absence cratered

me inside, but I knew

our true orbit.

.

I lingered, playing

with my phone on your bed stand.

My thumb swiping up

my thumb swiping down,

.

in that millennial compulsive fashion.

Waiting for validation,

waiting for something.

.

I still draped under sheets

hiding my nakedness,

body drenched in sienna.

.

You the painter

I the canvass.

.

I the prey

You the hunter.

.

But was it the other way around?

.

I feel you still there,

with me. An apotheosynthesis

of something different

than before, now alive.