SOUR GRAPES

The dark lady waits for me
       In her cathedral on the sea.
I will come dressed up as Satan.
        I will kneel upon one knee.
I will cry a cry like Hamlet
        When he first saw Hecuba.
I will bow down at her feet
        Betwixt Sodom and Gomorra.
I will find a paradise
        In her lovely lotus prism.
I will bring her my self-portraits
        And enjoy her masochism.
I will try to hold her smile
        As it slips between her thighs.
I will try to wriggle free
        When I'm submerged in her green eyes.
I will crumple her all up
        As she tries on three dimensions.
She will claw me like a cat
        Unloosing all of her contentions.
She will witness my forced laughter
        And she'll follow it with tears
That I will catch inside a bottle
        That will age for many years—
Yes: I'll catch them like a Pan
        Plucking, measure for measure,
Ripe fruits from an orchard
        That I'll keep as pirate treasure
In my old dusty cellar
        (For that's where I'll pine),
Dreaming cathedrals
        And drinking my wine.