...Menelaus's Lament My beauty queen,
on your knees before for your King.
My clothes are made of denim—
and my shackles are made of love.
Your long black skirt is made of silk—
now take it off and lie down.
My chaste queen,
your ways in the art of love
astound and amaze me.
I feast on your flesh
you writhe and howl all night
and your juices trickle sweet
into my eager mouth.
Ah, Menelaus, decrepit old king.
Did you think you could have been her only lover?
Wouldn't that have been a crime!
And because you have
a poet's heart, did you think
you could have dreams like that?
When she says she really loves you do you think she tells the truth?
Menelaus, you are nothing but a fool.
My faithful young queen
asleep under the cherry tree blossom kissing her naked thighs;
why does she have this impish smile
playing shamelessly on her lips?
Part of the mosaics cycle of poems
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