She rises above Monamoy Point on her wake—a Tenebrae of carbon Then bolts back careening cross blue-black— through her lucent clouds of hair from which on radii spray a diaspora of stars Mistress of Metallurgy tempered, tampering Darkness forged to alloy with light
Men have always wondered... how anything could be so round?
To arouse a sullen tide her fingers palpate night-water’s lead tingling light of limbs so spread to her lover!
Close him in— a pewter path of trembling touches that ends in the small of her back
Men so wooed, still shudder “How anything so tender...?”
could expose such stone!
She eclipses the sun! She commands the sky! ...to hone his steel on that!