The third time round the walls, Achilles thought
of his dead boyfriend whom he’d quite forgot
though only one day dead, untouched by rot,
in all the hour that he and Hector fought
evenly matched in beauty strength and skill.
Fights have no idle moments, but time slows
as thought does not. And so the thought arose
he’d like to fuck this man he had to kill.
And spear-thrust sword-slash were like lover’s play
until that final thrust, that final breath,
the death of heroes, and the little death
the hero feels who does not die today.
He dragged the corpse until it had no face
but knew he’d see it in Patroclus’ place.