You look a picture
framed
by bathroom door...

my modern Cleopatra
risen
scented with milk
from coconut.

Your hair and body bound
by exotic weave...

you sway and bend
like Nile reed
or weathered wheat
still wet
from waters kiss...

as I add mine
to perfumed skin
given a taste
of heaven
in slow descent
to cardinal sin.

I no Caeser no Mark Anthony
nor would I be
when I the asp am clasped
to her sweat breast
and bid to
bite...

in fained death amongst
egyptain cotton laid
my love my life
as I prepare this night
to make of her...


a mummy.