But Then I Miss Him So Much When I’m Up Above

Sometimes when I’m up above, Hades comes to visit. It’s the middle of the night, and I know that he’s with me. The touch of his hands going where they want. I miss him so much when I’m up above, but under the cover of night he comes. At first, the touch of his hands is bruising, rough, but then I relax and somehow he seems more gentle. Maybe my “no”ingness makes him seem rough.

Then he’s gone and the next day becomes like night to me because I cannot stop remembering his hands, where they went and what they did. And all his other parts, moving firmly, moving where they want to go. And so he stays with me, and Demeter wonders why I am so preoccupied.

Zeus occasionally drops in and he knows. He can tell—by the way I hold my head—the way I hold every part of me. He can tell that I have not been alone. I know that I tempt him.