Angles of this story I have told two hundred times Still by a listening ear are not profaned: How you lit the butterfly that slept inside my spine, Why it burned with incandescent flame. None would guess divinity to be an apt disguise When gods wear flesh and men are sleeping hounds, Yet I mined the fire's source behind your flickering eyes Startled when mortality I found. Within a slender frame so tightly wrapped in angel's skin Your heart surged with the fervent blood of man; Oh shiver of that touch – there never was a sweeter sin! What senseless beauty did my awe command? Then I spied Athena's cipher tattooed 'cross your hips - And not a doubt has kindled since of why my soul exists.
~CRH March 2012 Published in the Portsmouth Herald"Poems from the Hoot" column by Pat Parnell, March 29th, 2012 Link: Poems from the Hoot, 3/29/2012
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