this is the part of the story no one mentions—
you’ll have trouble telling them apart
that sometimes theseus wears horns,
and dionysus laughs with an athenian mouth;
even swaddled in the valleys of naxos
you’ll dream of being back in the minotaur’s arms,
the musk of him, the way you were his world
entire. how’s a girl supposed to choose,
when the man asking is fair as a god,
and monstrous?
who rescues who?
who’s supposed to do the leaving?
(you. it’s always you.
check none of the above and stitch your clothes
with that golden thread—
make every path lead back to you.
…I’m sorry, whose story did you think this was?)
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