Nefertiti, smooth as amber has it all,
honeyed lips, midnight silk for hair
reflecting the shimmering moon.
Each evening she stands, empty hands
longing for the diamonds of the Gods.
She reaches through the diaphanous
dark
into the vault of sparkling fire,
fingers piercing dusk.
Desire is the blight of sated eyes
and empty nights. Dispirited by
fortune,
the Queen turns up her palm, fingers
beckoning the unclaimed charms
that dangle over an endless Nile.
Beyond her reach, knitted together
on indigo, the stars are called.
Heavenly dunes stacked like glitter,
radiant before her stately hex...
yet each speck remains immobile,
unclaimed.
Buxom brown sovereign stirs the wind,
casts another spell; they always work
on the wills of simple adoring men,
but not on the twinkling stellar gems.
That is why I hide with the stars.
end/Michael
Bogar
No comments:
Post a Comment