New poem
Death and the Diva
Phaedra, ravished by the sun
in her blood, and due disgrace,
threw over her stepson
to court a more entire embrace.
Carmen flung off her mantilla
for a shroud, to sample keener
pangs than she felt from her killer,
so thrilled, for all her proud demeanour,
she wooed the knife destined to spill her
hourglass figure in the arena.
Violetta, in one last orgasm
of song, descanted her assumption
scaled in a final tonic spasm,
whelmed in a red tide of consumption.
And Juliet found satiety
in her tomb, an end so sweet,
ardently as Semele
writhing in a carnal heat.