Better with every telling,
the story of the night we met,
our creation mythology filled with revelry and beer.
My gemini to your cancer,
constellations sharing stars
aligned just so
with the conjunction of planets
perfectly formed in the cataclysm of desire.

Our saga continued with heroic deeds
and herculean tasks,
all spilling across pages of years. Tattooed on our faces,
deeds fair and foul,
most forgotten and some forgiven,
all returning to that original sin. Our garden
created and cultivated with four hands,
and, on occasion,
nurtured by an angel or two.

Willingly we return to that first moment,
revisiting past lore, embellished
golden with retelling.
The myth of our own making,
epic, comic, tragic-
the end will be as the beginning,
a story better
for the telling
and perfectly formed in the stars.

*** Written several years ago for Twelve Days of Angels, Day Seven