Summery Glitch. Poem by Sara Iglesias

A purple orchid sways in the wind,
Graceful as a woodland nymph,
Waving on a swing,
That was carved from the finest stone
Alabaster in the hands of an artist,
Is treated with a matutinal devotion
That perfumes it with muslin and splashes of waterfall.

My eyes found their way to his
In a perverse summer illusion,
That of the lost Arcadia of the dead poets.
The chimera of a waiting garden
With the harbinger of a lavish raven,
Stalking my silhouette.

I wished to taste the syrup of his lips
To crawl through the girdling meadow,
I'd clasp my palms together in an asana,
Vowing to the effulgent gaze of his collarbone,
With furrows that imprison a penitent,
I would dwell in the purple and blue rivers of his veins
Like a wanderer in vigil
In front of the amber of his pupils,
Tasteful as the fur of a black cat.
With a cordial candour to which the willow in autumn comes.

Would he let me in?
Into the labyrinth of his thoughts
Into the depths of lightless caves,
To the foliage of the jungles that the lost covet,
Unnameable wilderness to designate
The chapel of his enigmas,
On the mountain top where none can disturb
Their fireworks that rise at midnight,
Those of the bacchanals that no one saw,
I don't mind being his lottery card,
To be his Helen or Delilah
For whom his gods make a fuss
For whom his strength succumbs in a dungeon in gloom.