Mythologies

The bald dandelion sneezed again. Nothing left to lose. It's void dryly heaving. Choking on the broken key. Which would unlock the empty drawer. In the barren room. Her infectious skin. Illuminating the void briefly. So that I could see. The doorway that wasn't there.

Building her tower. Of tin crowns and impure Galahads. The sword in the stone missing. The grail not so holy after all. The long quests of false kings. Flirtatious Guinevere's in buxom bustled gowns. Poor Arthur's caught with a different sword in hand.

Wake god. Manipulate the corneas. Of heaven. Pour the key. In shivers of skin. Into faulty locks. On missing doors. Inside this room where I never was. Am. Trapped.

It was her. And she was reason enough. To lie. Say I knew the answer. When I'd not yet read the question. Strut. Like an emperor unaware his clothes are invisible. Infecting the future with glimpses from the past. This is. The sickness we keep coming back to cure.

And never do.

The lights come on just in time for the journey. Arranging the numbers. Touch like Morse code. Pecking at her openings. Releases the latch on her box. And all the ills fly out. Another perfect Pandora amongst thousands.

Leaves me with nothing.

Except this lingering hope.