Fire
torrents of fire in loops and carmine trills and curls
fall across your slender satin shoulder
such is the beauty of a torch
a beacon of delight and companion to recalling
but just as with old books
age will fade these words to tatters and obscurity
when grey cobwebs in the copper strands
lie heavy in your mirror
remember that halos were merely made by men
and masks to falsify the truth
when folkish tales of sweeter cherries perhaps before
that would make your own crop piquant
these too are fabrications
like legends of wolves and men
that bred the roman world
were probably no more than
one man once owned a dog
and stuff like centaurs and bucephalus
and Venus wars with mars
cods balls
It seems fair that the justice done to history
has snipped limbs off those lovely lines
noses bent or snapped or cracked
and torrents of fire
in whoops and carmine shrills and shrieks consumed
the bronzes most
and turned them into lampshades
but you will forever be
in my eye
that carmine flame of beauty