DIANA

 

Diana, they all lick your beauty with their eyes

from all sides from the top of your head

to the soles of your feet, they all want to touch

you passionately, to wring you out as far as

your bone to sip your delicacy until the seas

run dry and then when rocks melt under your

sole they’ll love you then too when the life

trickles away and dries up as does the old sand

in the deserts ‒ nonetheless you ignore them

or shoot them with an arrow like some wild

boars they don’t know that you want to lie  

on the bed of grass only with the archangel

Michael beside his white horse.  

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