Danae

A God climbed your Bronze tower

In the Silvery night,

Transformed  himself to Gold torrents

In the gushing of his desire.

And now, all gaze in awe at you. With your

Creased brow and curled fingers, in the grip of

Your most private moment.

Exposed.

No death-like slumberer you,

Writhing in to your own petite mort.

Caressed by regal raiments.

Your lovely self, rising to meet that heavenly shower.

Desire’s deluge.

Divine.

 

© Tom Tide 2016

Danae

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