Idol, Slick

Modern poetry modern verse contemporary poetry contemporary verse modern poem contemporary poem

The mist refuses to enhance the power

Or beauty of the mountain or the hill.

Their granite beauty is a gray, white tower

Above such silliness.  They hulk up, still.

The mist is like a passing mistress soon

Discarded.  They remain.  Their manhood holds.

She goes away like haunting ghosts.  Her swoon

Is like pathetic organdie.  Her folds

Of thin silk organdie are not as stiff

As what she wants.  She wants his hardness.  He

Just waits for her to go away.  His unclimbed cliff

Is more than she can cope with.  He sloughs her plea.

  She lingers.  He, still, looms, and that is why

    Delilah-like she hovers, harlot-sly.

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