by sonetta duncan
She calls her king — the prince of the underworld.
Awaiting like the high priestess awaits the hierophant.
Or perhaps, the fool awaiting death.
If she could, she would claim him by name.
Through the depths of empty space and endless time;
Singing sweet musings of Venus and Aphrodite.
Eurydice, he knows her;
Blinded by her light, he basks in the warm glow of her naked invitation.
Like the sun misses the moon;
Yet, the stars witness their unity.
For, without either we would drown in darkness.
It is but their holy polarity that brings about day and night.
For who asks the Moon what she loves, or the Sun whom he misses?
Fated by separation, their desperation grows distant as the certainty carries on.