A Poetess

But I am a poetess , she said.

I write with ink of moon

in shiny letters and lady's swoon

Nay I said ,you are but love herself

queen of dance with nimble feet

a temptress , with laughter so sweet

Everything I worship ,I find in you.

But I am no poet ,

I write in dopey soot

with quill of rust

and in Man's shallow Lust.

My love is fossilized ,

in earth so deep ,

crushed by her crust

Only finds a rare volcanic jet

in tarry grease of flesh.

So I will vanish again,

behind  sulfurous fumes,

lest the venom of my words,

 spite thy shiny starry blooms.

Yet I will not die entirely mute,

I will stand firm in sacred madness,

in which lovers often dwell,

lose their souls and everything else