born in the year of fifty two,
passivity consummately overdue.
When she revealed herself to me, this sensuous Aphrodite
was a delightful one-hundred-twenty-eight pounds,
sister to the four winds, free-spirited, untamable.
Tell them that she is as exotic as neon, but, is, in no way, as innocuous.
Her beauty will be astonishing, a rare sight, to be sure.
But, let them be warned that she is
at the same time . . . toxiferous . . . noxious,
a tincture of tellurium.
it was full-scale seduction,
and, imminent destruction.
She came to me as the eidolon,
that dream of perfection found, which never comes to be.
And, in the end, she became
. . . my injection,
. . . my addiction,
my reason for self-annihilation.
She was liquid xenon, flowing and unresponsive,
and, nearly as unattainable, her free heart unrestrainable.
My actions brought no reactions.
My words of affection were
. . . weightless molecules,
. . . soundless thoughts,
lost to the wind.
She was a secret code, an indecipherable mystery.
Here was the essence of the arcane,
perched upon a cryptographic plane.
Her eyes pulled me in, and,
her touch replenished.
Her kiss drained me of life itself.
She remained . . . ensconced, . . . unsolved,
even cloaked in a veil of non-divulgence.
Tellurium . . . but a faint trace is certain obliteration.
for to grasp the exotic, to taste of the erotic,
obliteration would have been a welcome relief.
So I grasped, I tasted, and, hastened my own undoing.
She was . . . astonishing . . . a rarity, she was a tincture of tellurium.
copyright 1997 blackstarr
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