Her cheeks, alive with red wine, will catch eyes.
Sized up/sighed off guys still spy from ringside.
Sideline surfers curse. Analyze their worth.
Turpentine and Turf giving birth to hurt.

Her body is the Earth. Insides, the sky.
Coincide: heaven. Mt. Olympus thighs.
Miles high, priests would die or--least of all--feast.
Bleating sheep cease to be. Lie still, deceased . . .

A little . . . lying still. Shy beast survived.
Rings: still-born. Pacts of love unpacked to die.
Distilled vice, hiked-up skirts and hiccuped "Hi"s.
Crying mind aside, high at hammered time.