by Alex Ranieri

Tongue-tied Orpheus before Eurydice. He loved her

for undoing the knot and setting free dove-sweet sounds, fearful

and terrible

in their beauty. He loved a glimpse

of the tendons in her throat, glistened

with fresh sweat. He adored her

unbound thoughts, squeezed

through a nasally tone. He worshiped at the altar of her

guttural moans.

Her voice was imperfection to his honey-drenched head.

While he could coax a lion into sleep, her shrieks

could wake the dead. But she untied him--

she undid him--

and when death wrapped

her up, he was

undone.