Sunday, July 28, 2013

She the Sun

Sun, modest as she tends to be
Robes her form
With velvet dawn

Just before her pale tresses
Fall over the earth
Rabbits linger
On the edge of scattered lawns

The bleak night bleeds
Through Seneca Lake
At dawn he gorges himself
On her damp flesh

He slurps – sallow flesh
Hangs at the corners of his mouth
Lake water drips down his chin

The yellow mistress
Disrobes politely, steps forward slowly
A silent carousal of light  
Claims day begin
Her unveiled form shames him

No comments:

Post a Comment