APHRODITE RE-BORN

Did we meet too late in a stranger's bed,
One night in July, when the heat was too much
Even for a blanket?
And we had to drape ourselves over the edge.

You leaned my way and blew
A gentle fluting down my spine,
Which lit an ember almost lost,
Barely a touch,
A top-coat test,
Traced on my back a filigree line.

You held my hand and cradled my head
To your gossamer chest,
And stroked my hair, my golden hair,
Close to your heart as never before.

I warmed in the wrap of your nakedness,
Your fingers lightly skimmed my flesh,
As would butterfly wings an unopened rose,
You caressed the skin of my tict-swollen breasts,
And cupped their weight like fragile living things.

And then you deftly played with the moss
Of my maiden's grave,
Teasing her out - ghost of delight,
She-genie rubbed from Eastern night,
Lured from the depth of her Venus-moon cave.

Must-filled nostrils I raised up my head
To your hungry eyes,
Tasted your breath,
Your hungry breath,
Sealed your mouth,
Your hungry mouth,
Devoured the demon from deep inside.

Did we meet too late in a stranger's bed
That night in July?
When your reading of me was a Modigliani,
You the only sound I heard.

Jane Sharp