Incidental Muse

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In a dream I spoke with the Cyprus-born,
And said to her,
“Mother of beauty, mother of joy,
Why hast thou given to men

 

“This thing called love, like the ache of a wound
In beauty’s side,
To burn and throb and be quelled for an hour
And never wholly depart?”

And the daughter of Cyprus said to me,
“Child of the earth,
Behold, all things are born and attain,
But only as they desire,—
As luck would have it
the goddess of love pitched up
out of the cerulean
blue earthenware amphora
I grabbed the opportunity to inquire—what’s gives
with the aching
burning throb in the
little toe on my left foot,
She had a look & said

Look here manchild, desire’s in there
pulling the strings
Believe me.
Take my word for it,
I really do know about these things.

Desire, huh? I just thought it was
a hen’s eye corn
giving me the run around

 

“The sun that is strong, the gods that are wise,
The loving heart,
Deeds and knowledge and beauty and joy,—
But before all else was desire.”