I am PhaetonX
Eyes, deep-dark as forest pools,
flame with the glow of golden sparks,
the supple and lubricious houri sways
softly to the tabor's throbbing bid;
breasts, firm as ripened mangoes, jut;
the ruby-studded navel burns
above the undulance of her wheaten bell
and down, down, down,to where
her dusky pearl-decked delta calls and becks.
This nightingale, from Afric's finest ivory carved,
lovingly inlaid with lapis lazuli and nacre,
driven to these wild ecstasies of song
by secret arts and crafts
and subtle mechanisms that only Cathay knows.
The seller swears the man that carved this miracle
has been blind from birth
and only heard the bird sing once.
Are these then not enough
Then, whisper softly in his ear,
" The Mongol's at the Gate!"
(Copywrite 2001)
