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THE MOUNDS OF VENUS
THE MOUNDS OF VENUS
And now, you succulent one; what am I to do
Since I am twice your age and you leapt over me
With the sweetest of joys. Am I to refrain?
Your 36DD breast covered over by the rarest of
Metallic silk; am I to ignore such marketable fruit
Of equipoise? No! I am still a man though your elder.
I cannot pluck you like a flower however, like a bee
I am summoned to your nectar I am thusly honied;
Let me as an elder of my tribe suckle your sweetness.
Though I be judged for my overreach, I am more than
Willing to be counted as a paramour; forget not that I
Am more than able to apprise the melons of all harvest.
For this I may be counted as a rapscallion or a blatant
Opportunist but I hold nature’s wiles accountable for
My seed rising albeit I did not seek it to be so. Forgive me.
Though my star has risen and is beginning to set, let the
Warmth of my setting sun rest upon your breast and let
Me be counted as one who admired the mounds of Venus
This poem just about knocked me out of my chair. It is the most brilliant and beautiful of all your poems that I have read to this point. (And yet, that is not to disparage any of the poems I have read here. They are all brilliant, and you are the kind of poet I admire without reservation. But this poem . . . this particular poem . . . speaks to me in a most exquisite way.)
Starward