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SwanSong

The night,
Warm and heavy.
Your dress,
Mauve.
Your eyes and hair,
Onyx black.
Your smooth skin,
The sandy tones of tropical shores.
 
Compelled to speak softly,
I inhale the air at your ear;
My fingers walk your waistline
To bring my palm to rest on your hip,
To bring you closer,
When I touch my lips to your cheek.
 
Through the people,
From behind backs and
Around shoulders,
You bee-line to me.
I see your eyes glinting,
struck by light,
Seeking and holding my glance.
 
The din of others is nothing
my body,
Suffused with rapture,
You move through the room,
Electricity in deep water,
Then perching,
cross legged,
Lavolta;
You offer me confection
Home-made in love.
 
I see your nape,
Hair tamed
by timber skewer
and aesthetic flair,
Waved wild
and curled by sea-spray,
Forking and flowing
around your shoulders
to the small of your back
and steady abdomen;
Rose black,
Lightning negatives,
Spilled ink,
Black swan,
Dark sea-maiden piratess,
Mayan princess,
A vision of intelligence,
in the truthful balance of your face.
 
Between dress hem and
Kitten-heel mules
Your bare legs glow,
your ankles and your feet.
Your dress swaying at your knees,
clung to your thighs.
 
A leather tangent
To the ball of your foot,
Presenting your perfect toes,
As Darwin would have it,
splaying with each step
Toward the night-club.
 
Were you bathed,
Massaged with scented oil,
By the hands of Cleopatra’s servants,
Enrobed by the firebirds
of pagan deities,
In fine silk
seamed at your back
with the swipe
of a white hot sabre?
A queen of the cosmos,
in full and perpetual blossom.

(2011)

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