She seemed an unbodied fragrance, flung To salt our bound mortality with the chancing and free, wrung Phosphorescent out of mundaner air, mulier Inconsistencies, faking the autumnal tint. Wry jeweler! 5 Moon-mother and mater, creator and queen, Shed the coronaed gown you wear, the glowworm togs And gems of deeper aspect that dazzle, as it seems, In the gelid junctures of your aspic bones. And then as we approached, in humble aspect drawn, 10 To those chill towers hacked from the ice of dawn, She slowed to come among us, as we were, simple In her simple habit frothed of bone-- limp, unpearled. Unbosomed we whined for the very concupiscent tit And eyeless ached for the river of pity that we had had-- 15 O death and mistress, o Azrael locust-winged and lacking The twitching mead even our clumsy sisters blend In the groin's obscure fortress, we arrow to you still!
From the collection "A Volcano Island"
Written by Gregg Glory [Gregg G. Brown]
More information available on gregglory.com.