Unnamed


Hephaestus labours day and night –
Hammers, hewing heavy iron;
Finds that fine feminine form
Within the scalding river of the
Earth’s hot, bubbling blood.
Hard hands cracked and sore,
He stands away, surveys her.

As his gaze graces her cooling corpus,
The chalice in his chest overflows;
The mountain top explodes,
Haemorrhages his heat and
Scorches the land.

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