by Bruce Boston
by Bruce Boston and Marge Simon
Hansel
I open my fingers, drop the pen.
It bounces on the forest carpet,
lands on a trail of blood kisses.
I follow the path homeward
left by your furious flight
to find you sprawled
on the bedroom carpet,
mouth open, begging
as words collapse.
In the cries that pool
from your red lips
I discover fulfillment.
Gently, I touch your eyes,
to draw down their lids.
Place your arms crossed
upon your small chest.
What a perfect solution
to end our fantasy,
my darling Gretel!
Gretel
I tore through the foliage,
leaving you far behind.
I was always the swift one.
Swifter of eye, mind, and heart.
I marked the bark of trees,
the sun-warmed stones with kisses.
I tied my scarf to the bridge
that crosses the old mill run
so you might follow my path.
At home I took up my pen
but the words would not come.
My breath could not catch.
When you found me gasping
alone on the bedroom carpet
a slow consummation stained
the staid blue of your eyes.
How could I have guessed
you had fallen so far behind
that our tale was over?
Appeared in Strange Horizons