Temptress

Meditation on Her Bust

Raised a Southern gentleman, I’m obliged

somewhat to euphemize these sentiments,

oh alabaster goddess. Rudiments

and archetypes of Love coil, and are pledged,

in those ivory hills (it might be alleged

yet that I am a scoundrel), torrents

of allure grace soft lips, curving laments

from mothers lost to sons astray and hedged

all ‘round with Biblical pitfalls, and yet

we so willing run to temptresses fair

as morning and ripe as spring, succulent

and firm ripe peaches of desire! We dare

such bright wiles, though with black rejection met,

and wonder why it’s said your sex’s more fair.

David M Pitchford
15 May 2008