May Mercury make
your feet godspeed
to meet with me,
to place your face
tilted up
at seventy degrees,
beneath my cheeks,
so windburned
from the summer breeze,
which turns to sleet
and loses heat
without your feet.

So Hermes, please,
attend to my bee;
she cannot fly
across the sea.
Collect her from
Calypso's cantaloupe brunch.
My queen is not Caribbean
she is just a bean,
with arms, legs, and feet.
If you see such a thing,
such as she,
won't you do as I plead?

07/08/2008

Posted on 07/08/2008
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