THE DAY I MET YOU

hidden beneath clothing of
togas and sheets of white
stood your skin of the sun
and honey eyes, your mind
of the gods and your lips of
annoyance—
you stared at me
eyes slanted
nose flared
mouth screwed
never had someone looked at me
the way you did,
and it taught me something.

you slapped away my beckoning hand
and turned towards the window crack
idolising the happy kids running
through the wind and sand,
the waters drenching their very soul.

"is that what it means to be free?"
you asked me,
an outcast asking a prince
requesting an answer to leave my lips,
and never had i been turned away from before—
the feeling was so fresh and new.

i did not answer,
and your anger grew,
your honey eyes darkened,
your breath sporadic and unkept.
you did not say it
but i knew it well,
you hated me before and it only grew
when i stared at you like i had been
enlightened.

"why are you here?"
was all i asked,
your reply clipped as your
slanted eyes
squinting in the sunlight
which caressed your skin
and kissed your hair
and blushed against your lips.

"tell your dad."
you declared in monotone
unlike the colours that bathed your
mortal flesh.
your hatred for me was enticing,
so i let my beckoning hand fall
onto your wrist and drag you along
the corridors of my palace.

"to be free,"
i began to answer,
"is something only
the free can know."

we fell into silence,
step against step,
bathing in the colours
of the youthful sun.

this was in the spring, when the flowers were blossoming anew.