Leda And The Swan (The Myth) Poem by Eli Spivakovsky

Soft as the bells of Liszt
was that kiss
rising from an ice-field
little bells dripping
here and there
witnesses

But it grows
roughly
a wing holds her down
white as a banner surrendering
and she does
pecking at her nipples
It's bill on her breast
the arch of its wing
stuffing her mouth

It enfolds her
her heart rippling
It extends its wings
the tips of which looks like an ice-flower
and she is crushed by it.

She forgets herself
a black dash in her memory
a black dash on its bill
remembers instead the heat
the right conditions for her to bloom
if she had been asked without being taken
if there had been delicacy

Then the luminous wings
would have been wondrous
the little kisses would have been silken
and stayed as smooth as frost.

But she saw it leave
above the waters it floats
dripping with her witnesses
and with its feathers in her throat.