i’m sorry, i’ve had cold after cold and now another one .. eerrgghh! am exhausted, please forgive … anyhow try this … it may be rubbish, but i’ve always admired something about Leda and you have to admit, swans are gorgeous lol ….
Leda’s popping dreams and bubbles of restraint;
she’s close, by water’s choice, to the wild charisma,
how he makes her kick-and-scream alive,
feathers in her throaty groan
and god, the perfect catch, between pale thighs.
That old man would claim her later, unaware
of how the river’s thrash and foam
taunted willow, cloning sorrow’s
spineless grace – a net to snare more misery
then gloat about misfortune’s violation
of her nature, clutching, biting moss for more
of that, so deep inside the catacombs of sleep.