alea iacta esto

Whose Bosom?

They met by the tourist fountain
Where throwaway coins in the pool, shimmer
Through the refracting light
Entreating Luck on behalf of absent pilgrims

But it often happens when lovers are in haste
Not even the Gorgons or the Fates can defy Aphrodite
Fulfillment, then, is swift and sweet
And regrets are friends who have come to dinner

How she cried!
The sound not unlike Zeus’ terrible bolts
Pealed forth in sharp intakes of breath

How she sighed!
Her long moans borne lightly on Pegasus’ famed wings
Sped ever faster by Artemis’ divine arrows

What a ride!
‘Twas Apollo’s lyre that enraptured their senses
Felling them in paralytic tenderness

She had come from Netherland
A Nereid in pursuit of love
At home, she dreamt of mortals
Fair of face, strong shoulders and musky loins

But dreams are often the cruel way
The gods from their secure heights
Remind men that men
Are mere autochthons

When she awakened from her stuporous dream
All he had left behind was his scent

So, where is he now?
Whose thigh is his fine teeth biting
Gnawing expectantly to the cove within
Where his craven duplicitous tongue
Will french kiss a new faery to fiery bliss

Who is she?
Whose bosom is he caressing?

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