Hades Sets It Straight
They think you shrieked as meadow opened wide
and potentilla plunged in the divide
from which dark stallions launched me up on air
to drag you down, who picked the larkspur there.
They think you squirmed with loathing on your throne,
beseeched me weakly to be left alone
and promptly beat yourself about the head
when faced with being carried to my bed.
Some louts declare you sobbed your mother's name
and downed my pomegranate seeds with shame
that redly oozed itself across your cheeks,
engraved a record of the passing weeks
with slashes in your forearm. They are wrong.
Truth is, you soothed my black rages with song,
unfettered silken hair across my chest,
until my every secret lay undressed
before your sizzling eyes. Your wit was spry,
you played with fire skillfully as I;
and when love gave me mind to let you roam,
you whined, "but... I'm not ready to go home."
(C) Leia A. Manuel