Imagine I’m the swan and you are Leda bathing by the river part-obscured part-revealed by the reeds, the water there gushing up to make you clean. I would spy your naked shoulder first from up on high and glimpse the gorgeous curvature of your thigh as you turn from me unaware. The moment when you bend to peer at your face reflected in the water clear then turn your head to hear the wind that whispers someone’s coming near, my beating wings so downy white would tear at heaven, usher night. Your nape caught in my beak’s caress, your heart beating with the flesh, your resistance less and less. My love let’s pull the covers back and summon gods of love and wine, be carried to Olympus on wings that we fashion with our fingers interlocked. Let me be your god and master you and raise you high, give you Helen, give you life swollen like the rising river you are bathing in. Let me kiss your mouth and watch your eyes my mortal goddess, lover that I spied when the wind parted curtains I thought had closed and the sun stood still a moment with one single certain ray turned your way.
Phil Canon 