September 6, 2004
The one priestess stands at the altar|
bathed in white linen gowns, her long
tresses black as night, dark as hell.
Approaching, knowing I will lose myself,
pleasure moves between us,
and I sink to my kneees.
Each morning to her I would come
begging for red kisses
like rose petals falling from a dead stem.
Then, when passion ends,
stare mutely until the vision came,
rending the air between us.
Some sublime horror, an abject gift,
would wrest me from her; of will
emptied, I would dictate the terror.
Then send the nightmare to you
who hoping it to be the last,
cannot resist reading.
· · · · · ·
Poetry on Swans
America the 'beautiful' on Swans
Gerard Donnelly Smith on Swans (with bio).
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