Apollo Contest – Entry #4

String of Pearls For Apollôn

The eager cock crowed,
disturbing my contented slumber;
beside the flank of a god
whose shapely legs yawned,
inviting a playful touch.

gilded bronze, spirals of fine gold
playing about nipples like daisies;
never has a garden been so ripe
for the taking.
I gathered up your petals in my
fingers, my lips to taste the fruit
of your loins.

I went to the temple of Apollôn
crowning a hill thick with green branches;
myrtle kissed my locks, twining gold and ebony
in a dance above a noble brow.
I have sentiments for Aphrodite,
while incense lifts me high to the
Sun-God with His mounts.
The temple doors were open;
a god smiled invitingly, awaiting all
I had to give.

I knelled naked in the light of lamps
filled with olive oil and flame;
gold light became my clothing,
my navel filled with precious metal.
O Apollo, kouros, the beautiful youth,
Aegletes the sun’s light, Who is Helius,
the sun itself.
Your fair light slides over my hairless body,
drinking my youth, clad only in myrtle.
Where did my fine cloak go; its purple folds
discarded at your naked feet.

My hands are empty of an offering,
still your hands take all a man can give;
from the grapes my father gave me,
your mouth coaxes the wine of life
from which my father sprang.

I am not a wealthy man,
O Apollôn who has stolen my heart;
my hands are empty of gold,
whereas my body carries pearls safe inside.

At twilight the lamps are set to burn,
the flames to light our way from the
temple into the meadow.
My myrtle crown beams like the sun,
in a moon rising high above
the placid sea below.
You move my body to devotion,
fine sandalwood the scent of my
I am a wreath crowning a victor’s brow,
while the moon laughs to mock my folly.

Before the dawn kissed the meadows
with fine gold, I approached Apollôn’s
Sanctuary with all I had to give.
His lips would gather the harvest of
my prayers, spoken not in words but in
a shudder of muscles; a lover’s offering
dancing across your strong neck.
I offered a string of pearls to my Apollôn,
which he wore before the cock crowed
too loudly.

My robe is nowhere to be found,
his naked feet took up the dust of a lonely road.
I am left discarded in what remains of my bed,
without a sign of those liquid pearls;
offered so freely, and taken by the sun itself.

All text copyright © 2015 Ptahmassu Nofra-Uaa

Posted on August 7, 2016, in Bacchic Things, hellenic things, Uncategorized and tagged , , , , . Bookmark the permalink. Comments Off on Apollo Contest – Entry #4.

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