In the beginning we drank gin at night
and made love during the day.
Violently exploring one another
like a map.
A map of dimples and sweat,
of curves and contours.

I would spend the early evening wrapped in a plain white sheet,
staring towards the Roman Forum from the balcony of his flat.
I felt timeless during those days with him,
eternity could not touch us,
as if we were locked together in a marble embrace.

Where as I thought we would be Shiva and Sati,
roaming the earth with a skull for a begging bowl,
we turned into something more tragic.
I was Isis,
following behind my Osiris,
picking up the pieces of himself he had lost.