Friends have reported that he is drinking again and yet this is more than drink because I realize it is inner debauchery: the eyes cannot confess: instead, the voice tells.
We huddle in our warm robes, the wind howling, and he says, in this new voice:
“What has kept you? We’ve been waiting a long time.”
Libus says:
“We haven’t forgotten.”
“Or isn’t this the day?” Alcaeus asks peevishly.
“Of course it’s her day,” Libus says.
Alcaeus chuckles.
When was it, I kissed that face, admiring its masculinity? His hands never trembled.
Wind shakes the house.