by Jamie Jung
She longs for me with everything that is not there. Her fingers inches away from painting my face, a work of art she claims hers. Eyes deeper in love than Aphrodite and her lies about the mortals who all promised Hades. He drags her away. Each fist clenched in each wing pulling her with the pain of a reigned horse; he steers her towards the gods but she is not one to follow. She crumbles with love in her eyes. Her arms are still reaching towards mine. When the world gave up before her, she was still calling my name, and I was calling her Victory.