For Harry.

Do I roll over?
Inhale the rotfruit he breathes
heavily onto my nape?
Watch his eyes twitch
beneath their lids
after he drifts off to sleep?
Do I trace his dreams with my fingers?

Do I paw my way through the dark
cutting through the grapemusk air,
purple rising from the carpet
between my toes with every step,
as I search for the door of his apartment?
Do I write “thanks for the fun night!”
in lipstick on his bathroom mirror
after scraping the tannins
from my merlot-stained tongue?
Leave through the courtyard,
ramble incoherently to Melpomene
when I bump into her
on the  way to my car?

Do I stay until the morning?
Drape myself in his velour robe?
Fumble around the kitchen before
asking Ambrosia where the coffee is kept?
Lounge until midafternoon
scrolling through the headlines:
                Zuess Wins Another Term
                Meneleus and Helen Split for Good?
                Hercules Labor Union Strike
                Golden Apples Down 6 Points on OlySE
describe our plans for the day – 
Charybdis churning in our stomachs
awaiting the other to suggest a future liaison?

Or do we make love again?
and again – 
until the thump of hoofbeats
pulling Apollo’s chariot
pulses through the open window?
Do we continue
to fill each other’s mouths with fruit?
Turn our bodies into Prometheus’s secret?
Do we spread our fingers across each other’s skin
and forget who is supposed to be immortal? Who is supposed to be a God?