There is an embrace hanging
As yet unenacted,
A smouldering aching yearning thing
That burns and writhes and
Demands to be born into reality

An embrace that promises so much
Yet threatens more and with equal vigour,
Turns a world upon its head yet
Fills a need so completely
And quenches an aching heart

We have seen the might
And the power of a saturn 5 rocket as it
Claws its way skywards
On a plume of noise and flame and fury
And this is the image we conjure when we
Are presented the concept of rocket,
Or flight,
Or heavenward high attainment,

Yet I know one who flies just as high,
Whose glance,
Let alone whose direct look,
Has the power of a thouand thousand suns
And the intense draw
Or magnetism even of a dozen
Deep black holes
In their wells

Yet she is truly petite,
One may almsot say too tiny,
She makes those of us of barn door
Frame feel truly lumpsome and
Gross by comparison,
Yet she whizzes and fizzes and
Percolates and pops,
Her path is as of rainbows

I am sure I felt the touch of
An Angel wing when she passed
Close by and yet
I see also deep naughtiness
Held firm in check,
Perhaps indeed there are horns
Beneath her dark dark hair

But it is those wings
Which explain the rocket
And the petite and the horns in balance with the good
That quicken the heart of all that
Meet her
Leaving us all just a little exhausted
Yet wearing a great
Big
Smile...

Sweet honey drips from
Perfectly manicured fingers,
Yet neither of us sees
That golden sweet glistening,
Nor the the intensity with which
I gently **** each digit with ritual focus
Until it is clean,
We neither see not because
We are either blind
But because our eyes are focussed
Each upon the other's
And thereby upon the other's soul

"Come hither" she said,
"I'll honey my fingers to aid your decision"
And of course I came
Because she asked,
Would have come crawling
On my bare **** through broken glass
Had it been necessary,
But it wasn't and the oddest thing is
She will never know she did not need the honey,
Just to crook that index finger and
Of course,
To smile

She's one of those delectable girls
Or do I mean a lady?
One of those whom,
Once seen is adored despite
One's best endevaours,
Absolutely gorgeous
Yet also truly beautiful with that light
That burns from deep within,
Blazing out from eyes that dance in merriment,

She is one of those who
it's hard to deny in anything
Even that which she doth not request,
Bringing out a puppy-dog desperate
Desire to please which
In another would give rise
To derision but which here somehow
Seems but meet and just,

She is one of those alas which
No ardent fisher of girls will readily catch
Nor display in the face of others envy
On their arm,
For she has a power of all her own
Which cannot be controlled
Or captured nor yet turned to
The desired otcomes of any but her own

So she is yet another ship to pass in the night,
Mayhap to come alongside or
To sail briefly in company
Before suddenly,
As if swallowed by a fog or darkest night
To be no longer there nor seen
Even with the careful search of scopes
As if she never were

Godzilla-like she sparkles through
Life entirely unaware of the
Destruction being wrought in her wake,
Where Godzilla wrought a wide
Avenue of shattered buildings
She leaves men in confusion and
With broken hearts,

So much power in such small a frame
Belies the obvious strength of Godzilla's mass,
Such poise and effervescence
Could hardly be aligned with such devastation
Yet here we are,
Here we are in a bloodied mess
Of brokenness,

As on she breezes so effortlessly
We rock in the wake of her passing,
Wondering how and why
Such beauty could destroy so utterly
And worse than that without any effort
But without even knowing
Or indeed appearing to care

She dangles her beautifully manicured fingers
Languidly in the stream
Honey glazed and luscious
They draw fishes from
Far and wide
And she revels in their
Cute and ineffective
Nibbling

But she does not realise the darker allure
Of the sweetness trailed
From her red nailed fingers,
Nor the strength of the
Instinct to eat nor the rage
Inherent in the nibbling
Of that ticklish little-mouthed
Scrabbling,

But there are bigger fish in deeper seas
With bigger muscled flesh
And larger mouths full of
Sharper teeth,
She seems unaware of the
Attention her honey and her digits
Cause in the depth nor
The rising leviathan

Until suddenly the nibbling stops
As smaller fry take flight,
The sunny day loses
Its warmth and the scene is set
For a different ingestion
As warm and red and sticky blood
Now trails from sudden severed fingers
No more to be dangled anywhere,