Archives :: Kristy Bowen

Ariadne

Appeared in the 1999-2004 issue.

In the beginning, it's like
string, simple, winding
through the days like
the dark labyrinth of your bones.

It's a pull like an ache,
point and counterpoint,
a hollow that moans
like open seas and minotaurs.

He comes nevertheless,
for what is anything
Without danger, without peril.
And you acquiesce, offer even—

the strangle of it tight
around your fingers,
the wearing in your limbs,
a friction that wants—

is always wanting, even
as you unravel to its
center, anchored
dark and wild as the wind.

View bio information and additional poems published in Half Drunk Muse on the author's main archive page.