Nefertiti,
smooth as amber has it all,
honeyed
lips, midnight silk for hair,
breasts
full as the ample moon.
Each
evening she stands, empty hands
longing
for the diamonds of the Gods.
She
reaches through the diaphanous dark
into
the vault of sparkling fire,
fingers
piercing dusk.
Desire
is the blight of sated eyes
and
empty nights. Dispirited by fortune,
the
Queen turns up her palm, fingers
beckoning
the unclaimed charms
that
dangle over an endless Nile.
Beyond
her reach, knitted together
on
indigo, the stars are called.
Heavenly
bursts strewn like glitter,
radiant
before her stately hex...
yet
each speck remains immobile, unclaimed.
Buxom
brown sovereign stirs the aethers,
casts
another spell; they always work
on
the wills of simple adoring men,
but
not on the twinkling stellar gems.
That
is why I hide with the stars.
end/Michael Bogar
Published in Between Journal 2013
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