poetry prompt: clytemnestra

boykeats:

though the sea outside
the palace is now empty
like a blind man’s gaze,

the auguries tell me
you will be back soon.
you and your tarnished

armor. you and your chimerical
mouth. the man sleeping
in bed beside me has hands

that were never
as rough or as sharp
upon me as yours

always were. can you hear
how the temples echo
with the sound of blood

yet to be spilt? this night
treads the surface
of its own dark griefs

while i drown in mine.