orion

I know she has spent countless hours scrubbing and cleaning, scrubbing and cleaning, trying to erase the maps made by my lips, scrubbing and cleaning, trying to erase the trace of my scent.
Like a slug leaving a trail of shiny mucus under trees and cars, my lips left trails and marks, and points to plot like the constellations. On her neck I left The Lesser Lion, Leo Minor glimmering in the dark; on her warm belly shone Pegasus, The Winged Horse; Horologium, The Pendulum Clock twinkled so faintly on her back.
Scrubbing and cleaning, scrubbing and cleaning, and I am Orion, The Hunter. I must have been some hideous creature, scavenging for sparks and crumbs, leaving my trace as I searched for a small taste of lasting perfection, stumbling across her precious canvas and always coming back empty-handed.
Yes, I am Orion, master of the winter skies, perched over her bedroom tonight.
Does she know her scent still surrounds me?
(Scrubbing and cleaning)
Does she know Leo Minor has fallen silent?
(Scrubbing and cleaning)
Does she know Pegasus no longer soars the skies?
(Scrubbing and cleaning)
Does she know Horologiums pendulum is still?
I am Orion, The Hideous Hunter, and I'm left with dry lips and dirty hands.
The broken and the breaking.
The dead and the dying.
And they are all with me tonight. High above. In this cold sky.

mc