New Millennium Helen of Troy

A thousand ships your face launches Pitting my ship against a fleet of others Snatching my heart, in a morass of mud drugging my haunches Pouring torrents of my tears and fears in front of my brothers Rendering me disconsolate Wondering why I let you in Although it ain’t too late To clean up the savoury scene In which I swim in the juice I find hard to invest or taste Even when I manipulate the sluice In slow motion or in a haste To beseech your adorable facial asset to tone down the torment On me you inflict To establish whether blues you foment Initiate no conflict Between your conscience and hearts you singe At will When terrified hearts in front of you cringe As you swill The red wine of pain and strain you rain On hapless hearts crazy enough to fall at the feet Which in the main Under duress greet Your sublime beauty At night, at sunup, at sunset, at dawn when by the nose You pronounce me guilty Of presenting you a Valentine red rose.