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Saxon's Seat
Pandora slipped silkily through the eye of the needle
The pipette; the mound of her syntactic vein like a kestrel’s cry
overflowed and the pulse beneath her skin – her wants – became
The moon’s paper-thin sighs puncturing dark waters like hair
The arc of the blue charged thought-seeds; the diluvial inflection
draws in smoky smiles like ragged angel’s wings: clouds sweeping
and smearing the blood beads of lust, witch parrying the sudden
sinking into the warmth of heaving storms like a thousand violins
Falling silent, as the last drip of joy is lost through my cupped hands
The flinch has its own walls, what a gorgeous citadel!
But my reticence is a Trojan Horse, crouching naked and cold
inside, she unfurls me gently with the fingers of her ghosts
And wipes away my tears like words that will only form in my dreams.
NJP 16.12.03
