The Metropolis of Dispossessed Catacombs
There were only two of us in the city.
Ruben and I moved there after graduation,
the day after our wedding. We cleaned
the catacombs of the dispossessed
until a little after twelve. Then we’d break
for lunch. I made a picnic basket,
he drove us to the beach.
After eating, I’d see tears overflowing
in his eyes, so I’d take my clothes off and
let him possess me. We’d head back
to the catacombs, take the anti-viral BP
had developed, and do it again on our bed.
Ruben would take his time and cuddle.
He’d brush my hair, or what was left of it.
Whisper: Do it to me. My eyes rolled back,
teeth clattered. The catacombs echoed
as I grew wings and horns. Ruben screamed
profanities at the gangplank leading
to the vaulted domes, near the entrance
of the metropolis, where a colossal seraph
stood dripping oil, before we fell undone
trying to crack the riddle of progress.
© Sergio A. Ortiz, June 27, 2010