Apollo's Mistress

    We are far from Olympus, folded into our Tennessee green
    But the gods have been known to visit

    They conspire with him now
    as he leads me across spring fields
    to what will become our second marriage bed
    in a marriage waking to its second life
    man and wife
    again

    he strips down easily, his body tawny
    and blending with last year's gold,
    old leaves only now giving way to green

    I tremble

    For twenty years, this man has seen me
    -- Recumbent Nude --
    under artificial light,
    Ruben's curves softened by the soft
    blue touch of the television

    Or in the natural light that is chilled by glass
    blurred by steam
    hazed with curtains

    There is no glass here,
    no manufactured darkness
    to cloak
    and cover
    disguise

    protect

    He invites me to join him with gentle, smiling silence
    and spreads the blanket on the grass

    It is still winter in the mechanical world
    where clocks and computers dictate our rhythm,
    but on this February hillside in Tennessee,
    Summer has slipped between the clouds
    and gilded the bare branches with hints and teasing of what is to come

    I tremble

    But the fabric falls away
    anyway
    a wadded roll to hold the blanket down as
    the wind tugs at its corners

    The same wind, that first flirtation from the gods,
    curls around my legs,
    whisper-soft feline brushes against my bare skin.

    Zephyr's laugh is a soft sigh, susurrus in the branches
    as he explores my body, tracing contours
    that have not felt the wind since I was a child
    -- if then --
    caressing the soft swell of my stomach,
    curling up and over my breasts and shoulders
    to play with the soft hair curling at my neck.

    I sit on the blanket
    virgin again
    until the trembling fades
    to faint tremors

    We sit in silence,
    eyes closed to better know the warmth
    beginning to drift across us

    I lie down
    and the drift of sunlight becomes a wave
    sun-warmed, it washes over me
    like his hands spreading oil
    like the softest comforter
    comforting

    His own worship of the gods is a restless thing
    and he wanders off, dark-bearded satyr
    checking the boundaries of his territory
    our secret field

    Alone, I relax, my knees up and slightly parted
    a sacrifice on a gentle altar

    Subtly, Apollo moves in
    stroking my skin
    the warmth is physical
    the touch is nearly tangible
    as heat cups my breasts and trails
    fingers down my body

    The god nudges my knees apart and sighs
    his breath caresses the secret
    that has never known daylight
    that has never felt the living breath of a god

    and his heat slips into the folds in
    soft
    pulsing
    strokes

    Zephyr has not forgotten me and he washes over me,
    currents parting like a cool stream over pebbles
    A cloud passes and he sneaks in with cool kisses
    where Apollo's fingers briefly strayed

    But the sun god's heat is still with me
    He has moved within and coils in my belly
    waiting for a puff of Zephyr's breath
    to ignite
    to inflame
    to consume me

    My hands rest across my ribcage,
    passive until now beneath the onslaught of sun and wind
    But possessed by these, or other gods,
    they follow the path burned by Apollo's kisses
    Over my breasts
    down my body
    to the smoldering below

    Apollo leaps at my invitation
    burning away the clouds
    and the trembling
    and the artificial shame

    Zephyr retreats to caress my hair
    and watch as heat meets heat and
    I dance in the corona of the sun god's attention

    It is not a sun-warmed wave
    that washes over me now
    but a lake of fire
    waves higher than the grasses that surround me
    they lift me
    breathless
    breathless
    breathless

    It was not Zeus who seduced Danae in a shower of golden light
    it was Apollo
    and as the sun explodes around me
    I do not wish for that 'too, too solid flesh to melt'
    but for the molten gold
    to become too solid

    The waves recede and the breeze cradles me
    I am both bereft and sated
    as Apollo withdraws
    and his touch becomes the casual brush of an absent god

    He was watching -- my satyr -- from the trees
    where wood nymphs whisper behind leafy veils
    He says nothing of my liaison
    but wipes the sweat,
    beaded jewels,
    Apollo's spend,
    from my body

    That night, in the darkness ruled by cold and celibate gods,
    he, too, is god-touched
    and Apollo's fire burns in his fingertips, his lips, as he touches me
    Slowly
    Pulsing
    Complete

    He has worshipped the gods and accepted them and
    they have claimed him
    Avatar
    even as he claims me