Cythre

Though we can start with Botticelli -
The blonde hair streaming, and the eyes
Fixed in provocative surprise,
Her hand strategic on her belly -

Your avatars dissolve and morph;
Flesh volatized to soul, the whore
Whose flesh is cash and something more,
Punk wraith, unwieldy Willendorf,

The skinny-dipper at Lake Tahoe,
The floating world, the belle poitrine
Of a long dead Minoan queen,
The plenitude of Khajuraho . . .

But now, for me, you coalesce
As French, immediate, medieval,
Making improbably coeval
Iseut, Watteau, Bonjour Tristesse.

I see you now, your body bare
And welcoming, your eyes intense
With passionate intelligence.
Your hands in mine, adored Cythre.

 

© Dick Davis