Polyphemus, As Understood by the Aromantic/Asexual Individual
In my cave under the mountain, I sing odes
to Nobody,
and Nobody will harmonize
with a staff he’s sharpened to a point.
Our song disturbs. It ferries curses.
My one-eyed neighbors spread the warning:
Listen too long, and you’ll never know love.
It’s true,
our love will never kiss, caress.
Our love is wine soaked. Ravenous,
our love devours warriors whole.
Our passion chases sheep from caves
and blood from eyes.
Blindness does not keep me
from knowing my own curse.
My toes will curl in the shallow of the sea
when I fling our song after him,
my voice its own ship on the water:
Nobody! Carry our horrible love
to those mythical lands
that need it the most.
