harvest

breasts lifted to rippling meres
corsets tight to curve myth
codpiece naked in cold November
the strongest discard stealth black

life has me in such places
for modern pagan rite

i recall a bristol roman myth
a harvest celebration
priests parading streets
soughting self-declared virgins
with whip snap and charged lust

who of us would hide to hide
who of us would hide for discovery
who of us would take the priestly vows

is shiva changer here
think what he could do
to the bristol harvest festival



This poem was published by Subverse in May 2K3.

image: poem

2K0:2

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