Love Letter to Hephaestus

And what is this except
the forge fires? The sparks
from the anvil?

Is this us – the outcasts;
one cripple, one victim?
Unlikely lovers in the haze
and sweat of this;

Fission. Fusing of metal;
of body and body in
fierce, thrusting heat.

Rhythmic beating of
hammers ringing through
our bones.

Don’t worry, my dear –
there is a place in this pantheon
for the pair of us and,
should they deny us,

we can raze its pillars;
break its spine and watch it fade
into the fires to be reforged.

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