Endymion by SilverHawk
THE apple trees are hung with gold,
And birds are loud in Arcady,
The sheep lie bleating in the fold,
The wild goat runs across the wold,
But yesterday his love he told,
I know he will come back to me.
O rising moon! O Lady moon!
Be you my lover's sentinel,
You cannot choose but know him well,
For he is shod with purple shoon,
You cannot choose but know my love,
For he a shepherd's crook doth bear,
And he is soft as any dove,
And brown and curly is his hair.
-- Oscar Wilde
Curt slammed the door behind him, leaning against it. The scorching words still rung in his
head. Words he had shouted at Brian as he walked away. Things he wished he could take a
brush and erase. But as he leaned against the door, he remembered Brian not saying a word.
He didn't even bother to stop him. Clenching his fists, he angrily kicked the door and
collapsed onto his couch.
"The pisshead," he muttered. "Selfish lout." Opening another bottle of whiskey, he drank it
down, throwing the bottle amongst the others. Hearing it crash. Slowly, in a drunken
stupor, he fell asleep.
The turtle now has ceased to call
Upon her crimson-footed groom,
The grey wolf prowls about the stall,
The lily's singing seneschal
Sleeps in the lily-bell, and all
The violet hills are lost in gloom.
O risen moon! O holy moon!
Stand on the top of Helice,
And if my own true love you see,
Ah! if you see the purple shoon,
The hazel crook, the lad's brown hair,
The goat-skin wrapped about his arm,
Tell him that I am waiting where
The rushlight glimmers in the Farm.
-- Oscar Wilde
Awaking at the sound of footsteps, Curt rubbed his eyes and looked about. His flat was
dark, lighted only by the light of the full moon. Sitting up, he saw a shadowy figure
dressed in a silver tuxedo, his face hidden under a silver top hat.
"Brian?" Curt asked.
Removing his hat, Brian nodded. His long lashes glittered as he curled his pouty lips into
a smile.
"What are you doing here?" Curt asked. "How'd you get in?"
"Your super let me in," Brian replied. "So, that I could take you for a drive."
"A drive?"
"It's the full moon," Brian waved his hand. "I'd like to go for a drive." He extended his
hand towards Curt.
"I should get changed," Curt mumbled.
Brian laughed and took his hand, dragging him into the night. Pushing Curt into his car, he
gave him a kiss as they drove away. Driving past houses and buildings, they left the city.
It all became a blur as Curt looked out the window as the trees whipped by.
"Where are we going?" Curt asked.
"You'll see," Brian teased.
Finally, the car stopped at the edge of a road. Brian took Curt's hand, pulling him through
the woods. They ran past the trees, hearing the twigs and branches snap beneath their
feet. Brian led the way and did not stop until they reached a large lake. The water
glistened quietly under the moonlight.
Releasing his grip, Brian removed his jacket and flung off his clothes. Turning around, his
pale lithe frame causing Curt to gasp. Walking towards him, Brian lifted Curt's chin,
tilted his head and kissed him. Slowly. Persistently. His tongue parting his lips. Then
pulled away as Curt protested. But Brian shook his head, laughed and wagged his finger.
"You'll have to catch me," Brian said. Running away, he dived into the lake.
Curt quickly removed his clothes, diving in after him. Chasing after the slim snowy white
form in front. Reaching out, he grabbed Brian's ankle, pulling him under the water. Holding
him close, they floated back to the surface.
Gasping for air, Curt pressed himself against Brian, holding him tightly as he drove his
tongue into the dark recesses of his mouth. Their legs entangled, arms entwined in the
water as Brian sucked at Curt's skin. Curt kissed him back, trailing his lips along his
throat.
"Do you love me?" Brian whispered in his ear.
"Always," Curt said.
"Would you leave me?"
"Never."
Brian kissed him, wrapping his arms around him, pushing Curt back into the water. As they
twirled downwards, two pale slim forms, lips locked together, hair flowing against each
other, separated only by the swish of water that flowed around them. Curt felt the water
slide across his frame, lapping against his legs. Pelting his face.
Opening his eyes, Curt found himself hugging his pillow, curled up in his bed. He felt a
drop of water hit his face. Looking up at the wet ceiling, he scowled for the pipes from
the flat above had burst.
"Fix the damn pipes, you fuckin' bloke!" he yelled.
Getting up, he walked around until he spotted his phone. Raking his fingers through his
hair, he picked it up and dialed.
"Hello?" Brian breathed as Curt held his.
"Hello?" Brian repeated angrily. "Who the hell is this? 3 AM you little shit."
The line went dead and Curt hung up.
The falling dew is cold and chill,
And no bird sings in Arcady,
The little fauns have left the hill,
Even the tired daffodil
Has closed its gilded doors, and still
My lover comes not back to me.
False moon! False moon! O waning moon!
Where is my own true lover gone,
Where are the lips vermilion,
The shepherd's crook, the purple shoon?
Why spread that silver pavilion,
Why wear that veil of drifting mist?
Ah! thou hast young Endymion,
Thou hast the lips that should be kissed!
-- Oscar Wilde
The End.
THE apple trees are hung with gold,
And birds are loud in Arcady,
The sheep lie bleating in the fold,
The wild goat runs across the wold,
But yesterday his love he told,
I know he will come back to me.
O rising moon! O Lady moon!
Be you my lover's sentinel,
You cannot choose but know him well,
For he is shod with purple shoon,
You cannot choose but know my love,
For he a shepherd's crook doth bear,
And he is soft as any dove,
And brown and curly is his hair.
-- Oscar Wilde
Curt slammed the door behind him, leaning against it. The scorching words still rung in his
head. Words he had shouted at Brian as he walked away. Things he wished he could take a
brush and erase. But as he leaned against the door, he remembered Brian not saying a word.
He didn't even bother to stop him. Clenching his fists, he angrily kicked the door and
collapsed onto his couch.
"The pisshead," he muttered. "Selfish lout." Opening another bottle of whiskey, he drank it
down, throwing the bottle amongst the others. Hearing it crash. Slowly, in a drunken
stupor, he fell asleep.
The turtle now has ceased to call
Upon her crimson-footed groom,
The grey wolf prowls about the stall,
The lily's singing seneschal
Sleeps in the lily-bell, and all
The violet hills are lost in gloom.
O risen moon! O holy moon!
Stand on the top of Helice,
And if my own true love you see,
Ah! if you see the purple shoon,
The hazel crook, the lad's brown hair,
The goat-skin wrapped about his arm,
Tell him that I am waiting where
The rushlight glimmers in the Farm.
-- Oscar Wilde
Awaking at the sound of footsteps, Curt rubbed his eyes and looked about. His flat was
dark, lighted only by the light of the full moon. Sitting up, he saw a shadowy figure
dressed in a silver tuxedo, his face hidden under a silver top hat.
"Brian?" Curt asked.
Removing his hat, Brian nodded. His long lashes glittered as he curled his pouty lips into
a smile.
"What are you doing here?" Curt asked. "How'd you get in?"
"Your super let me in," Brian replied. "So, that I could take you for a drive."
"A drive?"
"It's the full moon," Brian waved his hand. "I'd like to go for a drive." He extended his
hand towards Curt.
"I should get changed," Curt mumbled.
Brian laughed and took his hand, dragging him into the night. Pushing Curt into his car, he
gave him a kiss as they drove away. Driving past houses and buildings, they left the city.
It all became a blur as Curt looked out the window as the trees whipped by.
"Where are we going?" Curt asked.
"You'll see," Brian teased.
Finally, the car stopped at the edge of a road. Brian took Curt's hand, pulling him through
the woods. They ran past the trees, hearing the twigs and branches snap beneath their
feet. Brian led the way and did not stop until they reached a large lake. The water
glistened quietly under the moonlight.
Releasing his grip, Brian removed his jacket and flung off his clothes. Turning around, his
pale lithe frame causing Curt to gasp. Walking towards him, Brian lifted Curt's chin,
tilted his head and kissed him. Slowly. Persistently. His tongue parting his lips. Then
pulled away as Curt protested. But Brian shook his head, laughed and wagged his finger.
"You'll have to catch me," Brian said. Running away, he dived into the lake.
Curt quickly removed his clothes, diving in after him. Chasing after the slim snowy white
form in front. Reaching out, he grabbed Brian's ankle, pulling him under the water. Holding
him close, they floated back to the surface.
Gasping for air, Curt pressed himself against Brian, holding him tightly as he drove his
tongue into the dark recesses of his mouth. Their legs entangled, arms entwined in the
water as Brian sucked at Curt's skin. Curt kissed him back, trailing his lips along his
throat.
"Do you love me?" Brian whispered in his ear.
"Always," Curt said.
"Would you leave me?"
"Never."
Brian kissed him, wrapping his arms around him, pushing Curt back into the water. As they
twirled downwards, two pale slim forms, lips locked together, hair flowing against each
other, separated only by the swish of water that flowed around them. Curt felt the water
slide across his frame, lapping against his legs. Pelting his face.
Opening his eyes, Curt found himself hugging his pillow, curled up in his bed. He felt a
drop of water hit his face. Looking up at the wet ceiling, he scowled for the pipes from
the flat above had burst.
"Fix the damn pipes, you fuckin' bloke!" he yelled.
Getting up, he walked around until he spotted his phone. Raking his fingers through his
hair, he picked it up and dialed.
"Hello?" Brian breathed as Curt held his.
"Hello?" Brian repeated angrily. "Who the hell is this? 3 AM you little shit."
The line went dead and Curt hung up.
The falling dew is cold and chill,
And no bird sings in Arcady,
The little fauns have left the hill,
Even the tired daffodil
Has closed its gilded doors, and still
My lover comes not back to me.
False moon! False moon! O waning moon!
Where is my own true lover gone,
Where are the lips vermilion,
The shepherd's crook, the purple shoon?
Why spread that silver pavilion,
Why wear that veil of drifting mist?
Ah! thou hast young Endymion,
Thou hast the lips that should be kissed!
-- Oscar Wilde
The End.