Wednesday, November 5, 2008

Helen of the Agora

Long, breathy moonbeam wisps
wind together, weaving honey into hair
strands, braided and cascading over porcelain
shoulders, shimmering an amber aura. Aqua
pools ripple upon opalescent gemstones,
hypnotizing, luring, like whirlpools which suck
down every revolving body drawn
into a magnet's pull. Caressing tones flutter
seductive silence from chords never drawn
too tightly, nor left limply hanging. Vibrations
insincerely whistle jingles in rhythm to veiled
partings which hide no iridescent
gems. Clandestine commerce inhales
amorous scents, inferring flesh is alive, arising
with goosebumps, copulations incites
lingering daydreams - sensuous onenightstands
and even soul mates' eternal monogamy. Eons
elapsed before spicy incense trails arrived
without dooming everyone to death
by ennui. Contradicting longings, induced
in sirensongs' temptations, uttered
incantations commanding no one can live
without them. Prim asylum guides the tillerman,
who steers his ship past rocky straits - navigable
only by the hearing impaired, sightless
connoisseurs of the most delicate flavors. Calm,
the still air blows, as rocky shores retreat
in the presence of bucolic, pastoral leisure suits
found moored in a leeward harbor
at twilight, after tempests fail.

This is an edited version of the poem which was originally published by Eleventh Transmission in their March of 2008, Volume 2 Issue 3. A link to the archived publication is provided on the right hand column.

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