Frightened Gods

The god of fear is a coward.
Eyes closed, he sees nothing.
Trembling against the headboard,
my eyes dart to the corners of the room,
to the ceiling, in search of shadows,
minute twitches in the air that must be imagined
but I still twist to follow them, staring at the spot
where they vanished to see if they come back, a horrific
thought that slides across the back of my head and down
my neck like a rotten tongue — what if this time it’s real. I curl
into the shyest of gods as he huddles beside me. Wrapped in a cloak
of the star-dotted sky that pools out from his drawn legs
to brush against mine, its touch like the errant brush
of wind against a bare shoulder in the sun, a satin
curtain, he slowly vanishes, keeping me company
for only as long as he can stand it, drawn
and repelled as he is by fear.

(This is meant to be in the same universe as “Hellis’ Eye;” still feel like it needs some work, so I’ll probably come back and revise it, but for now I’m not sure what it needs.)

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