Love Must Be Spoken In A Thunderstorm Poem by Niko Tiliopoulos

When death dies
from the Medusa’s arrows:

Read

the raindrops
that tell the tales of the Devil
hidden in your heart.

Listen

to the wind-song of Persephone
on the pedals of the flowers;
it is the pain of the enchanted lovers.

It is a curse, they say, to stare at your reflection,
on a lake, in a cloudy night.

But look

it is the fire of topaz
that for aeons now
has enslaved Circe.

Smell

the scent that’s approaching,
it’s of Bacchus,
Ha! Dionysus knows fun.

Touch

the mud;
it could be her shoulder, her breasts,
it could be life,

And only then,
when the vibrations distort your senses,
watch the lightning flash in her eyes
and shout: