your skin is pale silk, my white hart, my Sol heart,
your blood as it thrums is red Eucharist wine,
your hair all the sun's godly glory and gold:
so Gloriana, lonely amora, who'd not call you the one and the only?

you speak of the sweet whispers that the waves could-- could!-- bring,
you, all fragrant with frankincense and rosehips and thyme,
you, avournine, flow to and away with the moon's ebb and sway,
and who'd not shiver and tremble before you, loreley!

you claim castle and crown with your easy warm grace,
you claim thrones of ice then complain of the cold,
and to touch your lips to petals is to touch her face:
but Titania, appassionata nostra,
caprice and impermanence, grace and countenance,
our lady of the lake!

Sun, heart of fire, flames in the sky,
you, like a burning city-- am I then your scarlet silk Rome?
(I am everything for you, nothing next to you)
and the breath is knocked out of me by you,
my heart is clawed out for you and it is I, I claw it, with blood-red talons,
my blood is not for you, my blood is for the universe
and the universe is all you.

and for all my wit and words, daughter of fast-talkers and runners
breath and smoke and city-burners,
for all the words I've spoke and spun
there is nothing--
             no words--
                                   for--
                                                  *you!

and I am a troubadour, but I am not your troubadour
my scarlet silks flutter, ember-red, in the breeze, not to you
away from you, from the soft kind heart of the Fool-- like you!
and beautiful and red is Kamala's mouth,
but blood demands blood and poison begets poison
and I'd frighten the heart of a Fool like you.

oh, but I am Herodias' daughter,
and yet despite this all, have I ever demanded a head?

my delphine, dauphine de joie,
sovereign as the sea, I thought you were
a queen, a siren, my sin, with your fisherwoman's soul,
but you are a seal girl singing sweet nothings
and your gleaming gold hair is all a-tarnished from the sea.

I never knew it could be so lonely by the sea.
I am windswept. We do not weep.

incantevole eternamente, encantatrice, l’Imperatrice!
mia cuore marcita, cara, Madonna della la menzogna mia!
O dia mia, di nominare ti’ una piaga, Pietà, piaga, purulenta corusca glorifica ti,
O dia mia, O cuore della vacuita mia!
se solo la sola vista vidi
erano i tuoi perfetta morta occhia, vacua Madonna della menzogna mia!

absent, white hands gleaming dully in the dark
absinthe nepenthe, queen of Eden,
our lady of the lotus-eaters!
flush, the fruit, your cheek, rose-red
breath, your lips, and trickles red-violet,
half the seeds, open the box, strike the match, bite.
(I never knew why they called it original sin.)

they replaced you, Eve,
with their ****** Queen,
and oh! how they praised her red-gold hair,
immaculata, benissima, ave Maria,
and how sweet and high their voices in their chapels of crystal and gold
but how they gilded it all, oh Eve, how they did,
and how they gilded it all to cover
the searching memory of real gold
(who could they blame? cherchez la femme.)

there was light--
rupture, rapture, flare and flume in the sky--
your hair was the milky way, bellissima, mellissima,
prima donna of the Scorpio sky
gold and white in the night,
stars or diamonds dance and flow
and your hair cascades, ripples, gleaming gold:
He said light, and there was light.