Celestial bodies

Why ask me how you would compare?
Women are not like thumbprints or snowflakes.
You’re like the celestial bodies.

One is a red giant, another a white dwarf, but
when you’re burning in the halo there’s nothing
but you, her, and the great fire, alluring
you as if you were a moth against it.

Or one is a comet, cold and long, that collides with
such hellish power it shatters your every layer;
another is a meteor that sparkles
for an instant and plunges into the sea.

Or one is a black hole ending time and space;
another a dark and lonely exoplanet;
or one, she was a gentle moon
that set.

But you

I could only compare to a solar system.

Yes, your legs are Mercury, and Neptune your head,
Mars is your waist, Jupiter and Saturn your breasts,
Uranus your neck, and when I touch the asteroids
I feel your spine shifting like the rock.

Pluto is your eye and all the Oort your mist of hair,
and in your Venus there’s a fire unlike any star, and
when your moon sets I wait for it to rise again.

Though many stars burn hot and bright I’ve
never called them home.

Seduction #15

I’ve lost count of the seduction series. I think this is #15, but it might be #14 or even #13.

The seduction poems are deliberately dark. That’s my intent. To dig through the crust and dip my fingers in the waters of the underground rivers.

linger and bleed and we’ll make our blood wine
trampling our flesh until our juices are strained
wet and exhausted and imperious slaves
trudging the streets and peddling our bottles
as snake oil penicillin and pomegranate juice
like lovers have loved in ages past
but like they have never done before

EDIT:  I accidentally typed “impetuous” instead of “imperious” on line 3.  That’s a brain for you.