Prometheus Lost


I run. I cannot stop. My feet are to the clouds stringed.

And yet my vision falters, anchored… Grounded,

Prometheus me. That for the love of you

I will not hesitate to have my liver pounded.


You grazed your elbow climbing through the thistles,

Synthetic violets distilled under your nostril’s flare.

A powder-blue of memories’ pearl buttons

That you demanded ripped on yet another dare.


Reduced to slack-jawed tears when you waver,

Enfolded in the blaze of raw Pacific dusk.

Alone. I persevere in my search:

Lost isotope to your encrypted musk.