I'm there
Delivering the fatal blow, but
She is dead by the time I see her.
There is disgust
From both sides
As I hold my enemy in my arms.
No one makes a move against me. After all,
Patroclus is dead.
Unlike that body, Penthesilea has
Her eyes open.
She is not a peaceful corpse.
She looks Death defiantly
In the eyes.
She is such beauty.
Tar hair bloodied and sweet with sweat,
Powerful curves of arms,
And breasts like inert,
Majestic hills.
Eyes as green as Phthia.
I manipulate
Her stiff torso
And kiss her lips,
Tasting the
Blood upon them.
It's not all hers.
She is so much safer now.
She is trustworthy now.
She is complete.
All,
But her and Patroclus,
Are horrified that I take her with me
From the battlefield.