Archimedes
O lover of fates
were the fates to love
would maiden hold
loft your bonzéd hair
or mother gaze at
roots and watered iris fair?
In longing passion
whence crone became,
that jealous fire
which yields one insane,
were Alexandria to hold
all jewéled and beguiled tomes
still not enough to behold
such lovers' hands
as these caress.
Her bosom sold in unrest,
aflame she sets her eyes
to his every move and
his every whim becomes her desire.
Could Eros have borne
with such wings as these
that hold Archimedes
in her heart thieved.
Copyright © Jesse Fron | Year Posted 2022
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