Quarry (versions 1 and 2)

Predator, you scent prey,
doe-eyed quarry strolling meditatively
musing upon the cud of her thoughts
Prowling behind, your covetous eyes follow
the languid shift of muscles under skin
the colour of milky quartz, lucent
Soul saturated with esurience,
tongue craving the taste of sunbeams enfleshed
your fingers curl, longing to reap a harvest
of agonized cries and pleasured moans
To draw nourishment from the flesh
of the doe-eyed one whose heart
resembles uncut stone,
If you can?

If you could
You would make of your cock a chisel
the hammer of your body pounds against
splitting stone from the doe-eyed quarry
Fingers explore that mossy ledge
seeking the shaded twilight depths
of the woman-shaped canyon
flooded with nectar for which you thirst
Will you assault it with your tools, attempt
to conquer and shape the stone like so much clay
Or will you drive, sleek and fine,
into the quarry pond, hoping to surface,
spent, upon the shore of your desire,
If you can?

(I'm not sure if this works, but I've had this imagery of the dual meanings of the word 'quarry' in my mind for a few days now and I need to get it out.)


Quarry (version 2)

Predator, you scent prey,
doe-eyed quarry strolling meditatively,
musing upon the cud of her thoughts
Prowling behind, your covetous eyes follow
the languid shift of muscles under skin
the color of milky quartz, lucent
within the praying hunter's reach
Your fingers curl, longing to reap a harvest
of agonized cries and pleasured moans
To draw nourishment from the flesh
of the doe-eyed one whose heart
resembles uncut stone,
If you can

Sculptor, you surely pray,
you could make of your cock a chisel
the hammer of your body pounds against
Splitting stone from the doe-eyed quarry
walls pitted with scars from picks and rails
Acts of violence necessary to elevate
the heart of stone, inviolate
to the rim, within the preying artist's reach
Your fingers curl 'round rasp and burr
eager to harvest dust and chips
To carve your dream from the living flesh
of the uncut stone,
If you can

Lover, preying, praying
your fingers explore the quarry's mossy ledge
seeking the shaded twilight depths
of the woman-shaped canyon
flooded with nectar for which you thirst
Soul saturated with esurience,
tongue craving the taste of sunbeams enfleshed
Will you assault it with your tools, attempt
to conquer and shape the stone like so much clay
Or will you drive, sleek and fine,
into the quarry pond, hoping to surface,
spent, upon the shore of your desire,
If you can

This version I am very pleased with, though not quite 100%. There is more of a transition between quarry & predator and quarry & scultor, both of which blend into the lover and quarry/quarry imagery.There are two things that are not quite right...

The preying/praying in the third section is a clumsy attempt to tie into the prior sections of the poem, to tie in the lover as sculptor and predator, as one who creates and destroys, who shapes and feeds, who strives to claim and to devour the divine within the 'other' he desires. I am note quite sure how to 'fix' it

As for the other, I deliberately placed that cock-as-chisel verbiage there. I know it jars. I want it to jar. I think I can accept that jarring note. Maybe.

I considered looking for more fluid, metaphorical translations of that image, but when it comes down to it, I like that jar. It reminds me of hammering a chisel, of that shock running up the arm, running up the mind. The poem has its own irregular syncopation, and then that jarring, forceful drive. There is dissonance in it, for certain, but it is not cognitive dissonance, I think, or not to me, but rather aesthetic, and sometimes a moment of aesthetic dissonance throws everything else into relief, revealing the outlines of harmonies in ways we would not normally notice... But then, I am not a poet, I am a scientist-turned-accountant with a monkey who likes to write on her back, so what do I know? ;)