LIGHTLY
dove flew
(24/7
at her beck and call)
down from
Olympus
quicksilver service of
his divine mistress
she needing
a word, more
than a word with her
misfiring genius
also
express delivery a vial
not of regular old absinthe but
crystal-precious ambrosia
not just
once but twice, thrice
carbon filtered and
scientifically
distilled
his eyes still smarting in recoil
from her last light show
before she decided
to conclude mutual proceedings
in standard mortal
Helen of Troy form
whatever and
whichever way to
be diced
she
not to be taken lightly
jazz of her in full worship glory
too much for
me to bear
poems 2 die for 