A lesser man couldn't have written your poetry,
and a lesser woman would have found herself
in someone else's poems;
but today is unlike other days
and words are not scrambled, inarticulate and senseless
lying with an immaculate muse,
you just have to fuck her
long enough to make her worship you
to guide your hand along the pathways
to her soul,

do not let her out of your sight, do not weep
if she seems reticent to entice you to her bed,
do not go to sleep
with words you keep.

make the whore of Babylon your lover and your wife,
never pretend you have not killed even one vestal virgin
guarding your secret heart,

never throw away the key of your skeleton breath, pouncing
like a tiger behind the door to the Lady,
be like paper, the pulp of which comes from sentinel trees
lining the ivory street, remember there is no one guarding
the Lady of the Lake

and Eve will always tempt
with her siren's
song.