Fuck your cautionary tale.
I have ears, heard
his warning, knew
what I wanted. So? No
sob. No could’ve been.
Try this cliché for keeps:
not youth, but love:
Ariadne reading in my
father’s study, her beauty
perfect, or so I thought
before I spent millennia
comparing. And him?
Big man? Theseus? I
tried sabotage. Went
to Minos, fawn-eyed,
ratted out their plans
to flee. I have no coin
for the ferry. It was eons
before I gave up trying
to hold on. Don’t fly
too close: easy moral.
Tragic, true, but
a moment in the sun?
Eternal. What hell?
I never felt the fall.