A man on Seven Horses

1707, Rosalind lived in a mountain giant foot

The northern suburbs of an extension of a sheltering forest

She hated berries but only berries she had to eat

Such a small and pulpy wild fruit

Rounded and brightly coloured,

Sweet, sour in straw-blue-black

Likely red, for her tastes bad

Mum sang “Blueberries raw or baked in a pie;

Blueberry cobbler, muffins or juice;

It matters not the form I enjoy;

Blueberries keep me from being blue.”

At 17, never saw a man nor a horse

Before she first sang,

“When Love with unconfinèd wings
Hovers within my Gates,
And my divine Althea brings
To whisper at the Grates;
When I lie tangled in her hair,
And fettered to her eye,
The Gods that wanton in the Air,
Know no such Liberty.”

Cavalier verses inflames her virtues

When a Horseman rode and stood

To adorn her strawberry lips with his sweet song

That bronze young man on a stallion

Three powers in one,

Youth, arch and a horse

a song from the heart

that keeps the oath for more than one life.

2017, Charlotte eats a Mac,

Dates on a machine

Utters erotic syllables for 7 men,

Kisses all of them, only for the 7th day

Loves the man who comes to her on 7 horses.

Berry Forest, cradle of Love
A Man on 7 Horses

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