poem, poetry, alchemy, desire

NO SWEAT

I smell
of sweat

smell of death

a smell
to savour
sweat
laced with death

raw odour
needing a tad more
of your perfume
and spice on my skin

and so this alchemy
whose secret
barely hidden
opens itself
to scrutiny

lead
turned to platinum

gold
to uranium

crystal to
diamond

water
to steam

and star blazing
fissile energy
force of
such
fusion

stuff of that
industry
to thing that you are

which
that old skald, old troubadour
Saxon
Norman Viking
Celt
within me

can sing of hesitantly, imperfectly,
the superabundance you require
so
much long gone
all its
revelation

lending itself
to
all
that
is rival, separate
Other

distant in time
faithfully elsewhere

whilst
I smell of sweat, do
speak here
of death
and other transformation.