My Desperation My Remaining Days
What primordial force resides in she?
Perfectly-turned ankles, tight
Fitting coat;
Flawless curvature of her divine
Throat:-
The loveliness that is Penelope.
Swept off your hat -- tossed back your
Auburn hair!
Shifting her head, smiled, held me
In her gaze;
The appalling beauty within that
Stare:-
My desperation my remaining days.
How often I have so cursed my faint
Heart;
If I was but half of Odysseus,
Had embarked upon the rigorous test,
Employed his guile, his lucid,
Cunning arts.
But you were done with awkward,
Fumbling boys...
Then just I, alone, lost amid the
Noise.
Copyright © John Fleming | Year Posted 2020
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