#dunmeshistuck

See here how it plods over  the desolate plain where life  once tread the obsidian walks. See now how it writhes upon the errant chaos of wheat salt- razed to the stalks. On and about Time staggers. Its gouty leg seeks its footing though the trunk be withered in lecherous ravages.

Yet look away from Time, toward the moon that casts a silver deceit upon the world grasping at light, and then–

The hour crawls apace and leaves ruination In its place.

PAGE, from within: My Lord?

PRINCE, aside: Now here comes one whom venomous Time would fain corrupt!

to his lover

Stay, thou golden cub. The night’s chill is not for you.

PAGE: Mine or thine, my Lord, yet you go out from the place.

PRINCE: They say all within my sight is wont to be within my grasp. Dost thou claim I see no night?

PAGE: Only that you see none  of the hoary airs which bristle ‘ere.

PRINCE: Should I spot it out that chilly boar is also mine.

THE PAGE appears in the doorway; neither stepping fully out nor backing fully within. He is still ruffled with sleep; his eyes heavy and robes undone. THE PRINCE is careful not to look too long, for propriety’s sake.

PAGE: If you see boars in the depths then you do not truly see a thing. To bed, my Lord.  The hour is late.

PRINCE: Yet my mind is locked within Dawn’s chamber, a-babble with  all the things Time will take.

PAGE: Things which will be yours again.

PRINCE: But will they be thine?

PAGE: If My Lord wills it.

PRINCE: For a fortnight, perhaps, for the span of a firefly’s wings. And then Time’s fangs will descend upon thy dear neck to take its due. Thou art not made to outlast all that has been promised me.

A pause. THE PAGE crosses over the threshold and onto the balcony, kneeling before THE PRINCE.

PAGE: Is my life not yours?  Are my years not your own?

PRINCE: All these long years, fleeting away faster than I can hold them. I will have more besides that will not be thine.

PAGE, aside: My God! How pale  his cheek, how like a blizzard his face storms white.

PRINCE: Would that I could forge for you a heart of iron! That I might hammer new life  into metal, that as your years are mine my years are thine. 

A pause. Slowly, THE PAGE reaches up and cups his Lordship’s cheek.

PAGE: My Lord. Prince of my heart and all my hopes. Will you not give the pleasure of your eye?

THE PRINCE is silent. Slowly, he kneels himself, and THE PAGE carefully unties the blindfold. 

PAGE: I am not long for this world or, perhaps, any world beyond. This is the blight of my race, born upon stilts to bear witness to the earth created for us. 

PRINCE: Of this, I know intimately. This is the thing that torments me.

PAGE: Rather than keeping an eye on Time, as though to see it would make you master- only look at me. So long as I live, keep guard of all of my happiness and woe so when silver gilds my hair and skin like leather falls over my frame, I need not envy the serpent Time.

PRINCE: He will master you regardless.

PAGE: Not so! There is only one living master to which I have given all– he is the world in my hands.

THE PRINCE says nothing for a moment. His eyes shut, long eyelashes casting delicate shadows upon his cheek as he turns his face into the PAGE’S hand as though afraid to lose the warmth of it. 

PRINCE: Then when Master Death comes, wait in her office a little while. When your  years are done, mine will only last a hair longer. 

PAGE: Live them all. This is the only hope I leave.

PRINCE: As you command. I will bear your curse of living for so long as I have such a body to bear the fire.

PRINCE kisses his lover’s wrist and rests their foreheads together. 

PRINCE: And when I am taken into service with Death, let us serve eternity together.

PAGE: Together.  I’d want nothing more.