The Virgin, the Villian and the Black Dog
When first freed from mother's skirt, still arrayed in white,
dew kissed, peach sweet, blush cored, I dove into
love, Persephone pierced; where ox-eyed daisies grew
within a field abreast a Roman ... in daylight.
Dry merlot overcast the blooded spot on site
where passion flowered upon the box stitched blue
quilt Grandmother with constancy had imbued.
Yet, youth was not enough to make the man contrite.
An omen ran through red bee balm, a hound of black
long-limbed, loosed to pursue the brazen few who dared
to lay unabashed in sunlight, the farmer stared back
from the porch; he saw them run, saw yarrow in her hair.
Ill fated yes, but first love is honeyed and that is a fact;
nothing's sweeter than a maid undressed in open air.
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment
Turn off ads, get more exposure for your poetry, and get more features with a
Premium Membership.
