"Bring him back to me"he enunciated to the chariot boy,
Before he kissed his Patroclus goodbye standing on the fair grounds of Troy.
Brown orbs shut, stagnant frame and armour imbrued with crimson, Patroclus was returned,
Just in flesh, bone and blood.
The Half-God went down on that ground
Where once stood his ascending pride, debauched by the prophecy, erstwhile found.
The carcass of his Philatos in the golden glory of his arms, he embraced,
His faint heart drumming against the dead chest.
Wailing was the Sun, that has once flickered upon these two young shapes,
With their lips grazing , bodies mingled and hearts...