Into a still, dry silence
Venus descends, unthreading
her honey-scented, tightrope
like a beam of light which knifes
through the darkest hour.
Cricket chorused chirps
crescendo as the moon hides
behind the garden maiden's
shawl - her cloaking embrace -
wards off frozen fingernails
scratching down my spine.
Dew-moistening Venus'
wet tongue kisses my cheek
breathlessly, anointing this fragile
human flesh in her ancient
yet eternal rite, wrapping me
with the sticky scent of oleander.
In the moment before
the first mist rises,
a purple-robed lady
sculpts out from deformed
clay a new, serene countenance
to greet a warmer dawn.
This poem was published by The Cartier Street Review in their February 2009 issue.
2 comments:
i like this one
I'm with DubbleX.
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