He plans meticulously.
She smiles with the warmth of a thousand ancient fires,
and her eyes twinkle to rival Venus in the night sky.
Whose maze was he in?
The ground shakes and the words fall out messily.
Messily, messily, he almost falls in himself.
But she agrees.
Another turn around a corridor,
the high ceiling and marbled walls
alluring and sweet.
Twenty paces, he reminds himself.
Twenty paces and she reaches the dinner table,
Set with delicate flowers
and cloth finer than Calypso's sands.
He wished the maze needn't be so elaborate,
but it had a mind of its own, now.
She sits at the table and the world smells like jasmine.
Midas had touched her, he thought to himself.
Hands brush over greetings,
but she pulls back quickly.
He's in the maze.
Over glasses of wine
and dim candles,
he tries to find his way to her.
Shadows and instinct.
He hated this maze,
cursed his role in it.
He was hardly its master, and he was a fool to ever think he could be.
Heart beating faster, he strode towards a light ahead.
The room opened before him, and
Her twinkling eyes
cast the room in a radiant gold,
and he rushed to hold her hand.
She grasped his, too.
They would navigate the labyrinth together.