Poem: The Mysterious Woman

Waterhouse_Hylas_and_the_Nymphs_Manchester_Art_Gallery_1896_15

There must be something I can fuse with

Something in the curves and rolls of nature

That longs just for me

I want to find the secret dryad

The mysterious woman

Who abides in every tree

Every plant

And in the furnace of every cloud

I want her to come to me

In her disastrous magnificence

And show me all that I miss

All that I thirst for

But never quite feel

Her thighs

Will be kept from me

No More

But in their erotic revelation

They will only become more tantalizingly cryptic

Like a labyrinth that only exits

Into a chaosphere of sounds

I sit on top of the mountain

Where yew trees grow like lovers

And make a bow from its poisonous bark

To fire myself

Into you

 

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