The Erotes

I saw the mighty wind blow hard when Eros, girded strong,

Fletched his arrows, grasped his bow, blew horn low and long,

And I, appearing in a dream, perforce did ride astride,

One by one, Erotes came, who with Eros abide.

Who are these gods, by time erased, the deities of love?

And lust, of course, the loins aroused, eidolons above:

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Anteros of love requited, to punish those who spurn,

Hedylogos, with a sly grin, sweet talk and flattery,

Pothos, with his ripe’ning vine, god of those who yearn,

Phthonos, with his bilious stare, resentful jealousy,

Hermaphroditus, sexes both, domain androgyny,

Himeros, Anteros’ un-like, of love unrequited,

Hymenaeus, solemn joy, lord of matrimony,

Attributed, good to ride, and loaded with things smite-y.

The ultimate in frat bro parties, maybe just symbolic,

But when the sum Erotes ride, all quickly turns to frolic,

With slings and arrows, pretty words, holy ecstasy,

There is no place to run and hide to keep virginity!

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Eros leads the hunting pack, bow and arrow drawn,

And will not rest till he has captured his most rightful prey,

Whether Selene’s darkest face, or rosy-fingered Dawn,

Or Apollo’s chariot shines upon his quarry.

He has the scent, he’s set to mark, hunts trace undefined,

He follows paths where maidens sigh, toss petals to the wind,

What he pursues, no one knows, whether heart or mind,

And when a gold-tipped arrow flies, there’s no chance to rescind.

So now we run, or ride, or fly, singing as we go,

Sipping sacred vintages of centuries gone by,

Eros’ keen nostrils flare, he’s caught scent, tally ho!

Let us ride this love-lorn down, and bring their plight to bay!

Is my heart a-fluttering? Theirs must be beating faster,

I hear wretched sobbing, while Himeros gawps afraid,

A gold-tipped arrow sights upon a woman wreathed with aster,

The arrow’s nocked, the bow is pulled – but soft, I know this maid!

I leap from my destrier, distressed, my wits a-scatter,

I do not understand the pain by which companion’s wracked,

Dear Sarah, my lovely friend, what’s wrong, what is the matter?

I hear the thwip, the whoosh, the strike – and my sight goes black-

Eros’ wicked arrow has gone straight through my chest!

In haste to meet his quarry, has encountered me instead!

One shot has combined two hearts, shaft buried in her breast,

Why are neither fainting? Why are neither dead?

Erotic laughter rolls around, reflecting their delight,

Eros gives a strange salute, they turn, gallop away.

Gray mists rise alarmingly, blotting out the night,

And I awake upon my floor, as sunrise turns to day.

My butler taps, and barges in, announcing visitor,

I stare bemusedly at a mark I did not have before,

“The lady Sarah has arrived, to play inquisitor,

About a strange, enchanting dream, would you care to explore?”