Hermes' Take

His language of love was kleptomania,
And thus he stole my heart away.
He charmed me with a childish eyebrow—
The spark in his eye
Like a philosopher's stone.
He robbed my Peter
To pay my Paul,
Yet, he turned all my lead into gold.
I woke with a piece of my better self missing.
I woke, and even my dreams were gone.
"But what was left
Was better for his kissing,"
I thought, as I watched him take the dawn
And ride off, into the broad light of day.

-jenn long