Hippocrene

Chase away

The busy bagatelle,

Too crazy with work

To be feminine,

And in doing so,

Become as dry as the dust which sits, accusatory,

On the black keys of the unattended piano,

Here, invite me inside,

Take my hands,

Rough, warm fingers unplucking the knots you’ve become

Peel away the duties you destroy yourself with

Prostrate before me,

I lower my mouth to you,

My coral pink hippocrene,

Glistening, throbbing inspiration,

Call the demons of the denied feminine,

And husbanded,

By my gentle strength

Let them roar,

Until the sky darkens.