For John Wick

For Sanaa’s Wild Friday Prompt – finish a Sappho Poem

For John Wick
“You want a war, or you want to just give me a gun?” John Wick to the Bowery King

In my eyes he matches the gods
In my eyes he matches the gods, that man who
sits there facing you–any man whatever–
listening from close by to the sweetness of your
voice as you talk, the

sweetness of your laughter: yes, that–I swear it–
sets the heart to shaking inside my breast, since
once I look at you for a moment, I can’t
speak any longer,

but my tongue breaks down, and then all at once a
subtle fire races inside my skin, my
eyes can’t see a thing and a whirring whistle
thrums at my hearing,

cold sweat covers me and a trembling takes
a hold of me all over: I’m greener than the
grass is and appear to myself to be little
short of dying.

But all must be endured, since even a poor
assassin such as I.
Watching you glide through the Continental Hotel
I envy those who have gone up against you,
especially those that have not survived.
It is glory to die beneath your hand
but even more,
it is glory to be pressed against you,
to be stroked like your dog
whom you love above all.
I load my gun,
I sharpen my sword.
I am ready to die now beneath your glance.

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