Sunday, March 1, 2015

O' Octavian

I want the vengeance
of Cleopatra-- her

sultry Egyptian walk
sweet-- dripping like ambrosia

clinging to the crevices of
her bosom-- tracing

allusions of her perfection

drawing men-- with cold consciouses
boys-- with fervent loins

to row frantically through
seas-- that spit storms and bring forth tears

just to suck the salty sweat--
beads beckoning from her pouting lips

only to find that serpents

slithered in and stole man's place--
coiled in the warmth of her breast

striking up the venom of envy
far fiercer than what her body--

mortal and fragile
quivering with blood--

promised to their hollow hearts.

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