and I am coming home to you
with my own blood in my mouth.
...
Penelope,
My name spells trouble. I am the first sailor, the original con-man, wily coyote, but I know you are the same so I will worship at your shrine and demand your forgiveness, if I have sinned my sins are the same as yours.
Your face has haunted me all over the earth, I have salvaged oceans and ravaged skies, I defied Olympus to come back home to you. I swore to die for the face that sails ships, but darling, I could kill for you. Hundred and two or hundred and twenty, what was it babe? I have lost count of how much flesh was burnt, of how many bones are enough to curb your lust.
I see you, you don’t know who I am but bodies have their own memories, your skin gives under my fingers, you crumble like folds of the time in-between. Twenty folds, I can still draw screams from you like silver strings at night, but you will have to forgive the blood on my hands.
I have aged, Penelope, I have sailed across a thousand seas to lay my body down at your feet, do with me what you will. I will stand by all your tests, I will play and win at your game one last time to prove to you that I am still the only man worthy of your hand.
My starry-eyed Penelope, they write and sing songs about your love, about enduring pain. They forget that I refused immortality just to come and die by your side.
Your long-suffering lover,
Odysseus.
