She Could Be Medusa
She ceases you like Medusa,
Leaves the heat in your heart concrete, sturdy, immutable, you stay for her to keep,
It tries to convulse but she’s still there to watch those stifled beckonings, beckonings lost in the eternal sleep.
She condescends to you like Medusa,
Enthrallment burns in your eyes, she smiles as you float through her isles,
You know from within you will be waiting with her awhile.
She’s an artist like Medusa,
She takes the dark out of the nightime and sweeps the daytime with the milk from her breasts,
She leaves you in Sodom and all you want is her back, the infinite agony cuts at your chest.
She cries to you like Medusa,
Acrylic tears leave you drowning in her fear,
She’s lonely on Sundays even though you’re near.
She yearns like Medusa,
To know what it’s like to feel,
Feel what it’s like to be a sycamore, like us, a sycamore painted green with shadows she will steal.
She stings you like Medusa,
Pierces you with promiscuity,
Collages of olivaceous wine drip down your spine, it tingles you so delicately.
She consoles you like Medusa,
Leaves the vessels in your brain stone still,
And the dusk’s rain sweeps over the isle all until she makes her next kill.
She could be Medusa,
If only she could be,
The beauty which she will someday be able see.
Athena couldn’t even stand a chance.