Savage Muse

The forgotten grace
didn't dance with her sisters,
wasn't enshrined in stone.
She thumped across rooms
and shook her booty,
not to say come hither,
but kiss it if you don't like it.
She flipped her finger
and smiled with reckless abandon.
She stared as her lovers laid
their treasures before her and appraised them
to see if they were equal to
what she had bestowed.
Her laughter
led scores to the caverns of nightmares
and then illuminated them,
showing gems
embedded in the walls.
The wild grace wrestled her lovers to the ground
and left those that survived
gasping and grateful,
hesitant to speak her name,
holding her secrets closely.
But the gifts she gave them,
they transformed and gave again to the world.

Copyright 2005.

poetry