scarlet star in a solemn sky

 
I watch her through a glass wall.
she could cover her side of it with a thick, dark curtain, but she has no
desire to shutdown my deviant eyes. there are no secrets locked in
cabinets, no intimate love stories confined in a red-ribboned journal. &
when she is nude, it’s because she prefers it.

she discovered early her affinity for sex; it was a carousel, & there were
many ponies to ride. she’s wise enough to know what she is, & noble
enough to accept it. if she was bad, it was someone else’s perception
of wickedness.

she knows the kind of man she wants, & counts the fallacies & charades
of the men she does not want. her wildness can be tamed by the passion
in his heart; it sings to her like a nightingale. she yearns for a strict
branding where it should be placed, & her hair, captive in a clenched fist.
if the sex is violent, she fashions the hurt into velvet shackles of ecstasy.

as a daughter of Eve, she’s the temptress that will lead a man to her bed
or a verdant spot in the garden. & if she’s hungry, she’ll get him to pick
an apple from the forbidden tree.

many times, I’ve imagined a door in that wall. I go in & of course the sex
is incredible, but after, I need a drink & a smoke, & what do I do with
her now?

so I tell her how beautiful our loving was, & how we must keep that
beauty secure in our hearts, & we vow never to write about it.

there are paintings & there is music  –
but there is no poem…


(Art: Gunter Rossler)