She reached through the diaphanous satin
separated from the vault of sparkling gems.
Nefertiti, smooth as amber has it all,
honeyed dates, midnight silk for hair,
breasts round like a rising moon.
But here she stands, fingers piercing dusk,
empty hands longing for the diamonds
of the gods. Desire is the blight of full eyes
and empty nights. Dispirited by fortune,
the Queen turns up her palm, fingers curling
inward, beckoning the unclaimed charms
that dangle over an endless Nile .
Adorned by imagination, knitted together
on indigo, the stars are called.
Heavenly dunes stacked like glitter,
radiant under the magical spell of a fiery serenade.
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.
That is why I hide with the stars.
end/michael
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