Linda Ann Strang – Ⅱ
On a Botticelli Hillside I Turfed Out Venus
and Apollo and threw my laugh
at you like the west wind and a discus.
And there you were, sprawled,
choking blue on my comedy.
I had to retrieve my joke
from your cinnamon flavoured bubblegum throat
with my tongue. I could taste your laughter;
it was fun. You are a man with hilarity
that becomes a hyacinth.
Your enjoyment fills up my empty spaces
like: a child, a legend, a picnic,
hot air balloons (we can eat each other
with rainbow spoons), bright ideas; and filaments
of fulfillment in flower bulbs.
You’re like spring itself rising up in the cup
of my hand, my scented lamp, earth of my cervix –
my lovemaking blue Indian God.
(1 February 2006)
and Apollo and threw my laugh
at you like the west wind and a discus.
And there you were, sprawled,
choking blue on my comedy.
I had to retrieve my joke
from your cinnamon flavoured bubblegum throat
with my tongue. I could taste your laughter;
it was fun. You are a man with hilarity
that becomes a hyacinth.
Your enjoyment fills up my empty spaces
like: a child, a legend, a picnic,
hot air balloons (we can eat each other
with rainbow spoons), bright ideas; and filaments
of fulfillment in flower bulbs.
You’re like spring itself rising up in the cup
of my hand, my scented lamp, earth of my cervix –
my lovemaking blue Indian God.