Bix
black ...
as the vault,
those tresses
(your momma's ire),
and a universe beneath ...
smile to rival Sol
where hope dances,
and fearfully dark, those eyes -
a pitchy pool ever
deep enough to plunge ...
to swim through ...
to drown in,
(sadness disturbs its depths)
hips that toss killer
curves to any fool's gaze,
with a tempo to tame ...
and torture -
a sway to beguile the gods, themselves,
and transform a simple stride
into coy seduction …
oh, I'd give a galaxy of suns
to be your paladin ...
your Ferrix ...
your beloved
home.
Copyright © Gregory Richard Barden, November 2, 2022
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