The Unicorns

Once, I could have sworn, in a little rose grove in a poor suburban street, A horned horse in shining sunlight made an appearance to me. A child, then, I vowed to meet the beast again, parents dead and gone, I finally drew my sword- heavy in hand and idealistically splaying me out into an unknown dimension. I met grey, worn concrete with a long history of Blood making, rivaled only be the gang of uncovered manholes on the other corner. Driven only by a long past vision, fighting not to be swayed by the wind. One night, a third of no food, and a fifth of viscous liquid a glimpse of the horned stallion was caught. Chasing valiantly, I ended stranded on The Island, headlights rushing past in streams, so many cars; Only one key, blinded until she pulled up and dragged me off the curb with herself. A childhood friend, whose ring I nearly wretched into the vent When I found her, selling herself away, after all those years stuck with that metal hoop with which She had promised herself to me. A glint in the rear-view, what I saw made me gasp. On her forehead--- a bruise; in both of us, the persistence only Unicorns have: so mythical we were nearly extinct by ill-suited gravel breaking hooves, unknowing we could be left scarred, dead, hornless If we were not aware. We were cut off, no sound could be made. though disguised now, we knew, we knew. She put one hand onto mine, and smiled. That's all that mattered. Gotten everything we'd come for, We drove far, far away.