king david’s thoughts

As he looks at Bathsheba
her shoulders twin moons
round under the starlight
water braids her hair
Brunette waves
a dark tumid river
and he longs to be the liquid
that surrounds her navel,
the dried salt grains that scrub
her white skin pink.
He wants nothing more than to
catch on his sandpaper tongue
the droplets of moisture
that slide
down the lobe of her ear,
and to taste the flavour
of destruction
upon her satin-cream throat.