Melina And Her Cherub Boys Poem by Matthew Bartlett

Melina bare nude sprinkling her flower garden,
Cherub boys see her and their muscles harden,
lily-white and soaked-in gushing ambergris.
She chants among the shock-thrust frenzy of a dream,
And wine Dionysiun,
Woebegone and breath-taking in-between, undulating both
The steady startling skin-flesh of their growth,
Thus proclaimed; everything more beautiful when soaked; and they rapture her,
Drunk of the sleepy-sweet waters spilt between her ivory thighs;
They congress her, covet her, then ravage her in mouth-flower sighs,
The delicate honey of her lips;
They startle her; she emits from her tongue an electrical sigh;
And the sun-rise color of blood-letting; apocalyptical erupting gushes
As if God alone were in her...spilling his perfumes of sparkling hushes.
Sun-light breaks through earth,
Moon-beams kiss the sea!
Her breasts- a soft eiderdown and a love murmur,
Her treasure- lips and finger-tips as soft as gossamer,
And rose-hued red mournful lips like delicate, gypsy-rose,
Embedded among the untrodden moon, in
Auguries of breaking waves, stifled wild-flower woes;
Such longing to touch- near the fire- the brushed nape of her neck,
And the reveries from her burnt-sienna hair imbued with amorous sweat
Assuaged of honey-tears, wet
Enslaving symmetrical stance,
Of omnipresent kumatage, super-transparent eyes,
The pleasure-chamber echoes deep within her thighs;
And again- falling, swimming bare through Heaven’s ink-stream,
Thalia, Kalliope, Erato and Melpomene;
Those bustling muses,
Muses of throbbing lips.
Of ondula flows and wavebeams lull- bring her to the dawn of new things.
Lily-dances, full-tempered tongues, fascination grips,
Un-bridled, eternal passion!
My foam-borne Anadyomene, where you tread, flowers bloom,
Curving the soft-dun of her lips to love swoons, and
Nourished her in wild-silk.
Moondown eternal- sweet gypsum and Elysium sway!
Gentle finger-lacing her incarnadine arch-way,
Such trembling lust!
Love- bent back and penetrating.
This longing fragrance, this tranquil feel…
A beauty scarred by Heaven-fleeing doves,
How long can it last?
Or vary still- as the pleasing heart does.
What gloriously steaming warm cries!
What a comely blush!
In shock-wave explosions she releases with a final thrust
And her dancing pleasure-lips that would his sorrow be, or be his ecstasy…
Half-pulse half-incantatory woven spells
“L’amor che move il sole e l’altre stele! ”
Caterpillar- cadences of her mouth like ghost piano bars;
Her gorgeous whims surpass the face that launched a thousand ships to war.
And thus, the Cherub boys flew home fatigued and in high-trance,
But one remained still,
Undyingly desperate still to flower her with his lance,
…and she propelled;
They took to bed, white satin sheets, sleepy and over-doused,
They engorged and were wrappingly soused,
And her pheromone scent of moon and clear Heaven
Kept them absorbed within each other’s limbs, - forever even
God could not depart their lustful tongues,
Leaving nothing left but a fire of great burning and sordid guilt
Remaining among,
...Left to glisten in their lungs.