Leda

What I remember is
copper sun going black,
like a taper held against
torrential rain,

the thrash of sable
wings displacing slack
tide, countless sparks
like a fractured chain

of silver-blue cinders
candling his mouth,
all tangerine and cruel
serrations

which breached brilliant
ribbons on my brow
as if I were a gift
of strange congratulations

he offered to himself~
and the hot soot
of his tongue like wax
against my lidded eyes,

sealed like a note upon
which I could not look
as great webbed feet caught,
then parted my thighs.

I remember violent wings
holding me afloat.
Fire shuddering inside.
What his body wrote.