She of Babylon

From darkness comes fine remembrances of times When silken threads hung desiring to entice And swollen ruby reds were heavenly gates. Once alabaster, in the dim light stretched out Now the dry papyrus of a map so arduously drawn With spidery wiggly lines in reds and purple blues Mapping out wanton warm summer delights Or discrete winter whispers exhaled leaflessly Or the heavy monsoon air of rat rani scented nights. Oh the dream, the fine lines of so many dreams. Yet even the ache of longing has disappeared In the Mona Lisa smile no one can see. While they speak at market of electric love Coursing through her ancient iambic thighs And whisper with long quivering sighs.