Sunday, 27 November 2011

Circe

She looks up,
Her eyes
Greedy in supplication,
And smiles.

She wants him.

She wants him
To fill her cup,
A golden cup,
She holds on her palm
She stretches out
Towards him.

He looks at her hair,
Its tower of tight curls
Above an alabaster face
Where big black yolks
In her egg white eyes
Penetrate his defences…

Recovering his composure
He stares at the silk strap,
Following its slow slide
From off of her shoulder
Smiling to himself
On the measure of his control.

He looks at her nose;
Her prominent chin;
The open, expectant, lips:
An estuary to be explored
By another he surmises,

Before he falls:
A corkscrew of hair 
Bounces loose
Against her cheek.

She crumples.

She crumples
And falling to the floor
She gives thanks
To his feet.
Her cup he fills
                 With his smile.




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