Your Dark Neck
You have a dark neck so still and the rays of the sun are nimble upon it like thieves with golden, futile fingers on heavy opal. You have a neck of black cream and moonlight is white upon it, nibbling like royal rats'teeth on adamantine chocolate. You have a dark neck curved as the cosmos is curved, black as the universe is black, and yielding always and only to the shadow god that once danced for a million years, torso bearing down on toes, toes beneath the beat of celestial music, toes above the heat of coal suns. The knowledge of the curve was thus pounded into the sleep of the earth to be born ages later into the petals of flower, intricacies of pine cone, convolutions of cloud, and into the light-scorning curve of your neck.