lit dupa yesterday
tomorrow

idle following your anywhere
my sheer idol

a curl of smoke for every corner
your curl of hair

to press and burn and disappear
your servant to ashes
by trials and truths

your absence would be fear
your lie is a gift


//

Phaedrus: (as Lysias, cont.)

whenever
they have ceased
from desire (epithumia)

// 232ε

ἐπειδὰν τῆς ἐπιθυμίας παύσωνται