Circe, by Walter Wykes

Circe

your mansion rises
in the middle of a clearing
a dense wood, prowled by lions and wolves
the drugged and deadly victims of your magic   tales of your dark temper
are legendary   by magical arts
you reduce scorned suitors to cattle
or pigs
whichever suits your fancy   you leave them nothing
not even their manhood   still, I am drawn
like a wild beast
like all the others before me
to feast upon your witch's smile   red wine drips from your moist lips
splashes on a bare breast   like Odysseus
I suspect treachery from the outset
but I am only a man   even as I tear at your clothing
I keep one eye on the door
and a hand on my sword

poems.one - Walter Wykes

Walter Wykes