Apollonia

The Muses Leaving Their Father
Apollo to Go Out and Light the
World, (1868), Gustave Moreau

Shaken from slumber, I penned this simple ode to Apollonia, who still haunts my mind.

Apollonia

Apollonia was dark and sibylline.
We shared a love of books.
After school, we’d read bawdy verse
Between the stacks and nooks.

We dreamed of Barsoom’s distant sands
And tilted at windmills in sunny Spain.
She was Cleopatra to my Antony;
I was Tarzan to her Jane.

“Apollonia,” I’d whisper—
The mere sound of her name,
An invocation to Apollo himself,
A bright, burning flame.

Her family moved across town—
It felt a world away.
They say young love fades with time,
But I taste her kiss to this day.