Phobos, The Great Shuddering Moon Of Fear Poem by Fiona Eris Strand

He always knew how to comfort me,
even when his words
felt like he was forcefully
submerging my head in an overfilled
bathtub.
He could run his hands across my thighs
and I would be at peace,
momentarily forgetting
that I was not the only lover he caressed
in this manner.
He held me in those strong but gentle arms,
covered in angry tattoos professing
atheism and utter despair.
He was bad for me,
but no one ever understood me in the way he could.
I hope that he looks down at me from the heavens,
and is still watching over me,
even though I fear he might be elsewhere
in the unknown mysteries of our afterlife.