Still Unravish’d

“Thou still unravish’d bride of quietness…” – John Keats, Ode on a Grecian Urn

Well, obviously, duh, I should’ve known.
I mean, like, doesn’t “Quietness” say it all?
I hoped he’d talk more once we married, but
he’d put a finger to my lips and turn
away from murmurs, as I tongued his ear,
and redden bright as Kool-Aid-pinkened hair
when I slid my fingers to his swelling crotch.
But I’m turned on by strong and silent types
like Heathcliff brooding on a windswept moor:
I'd salvage our relationship somehow.

The restraints, I said, were there to keep him safe.
I called a lightning bolt to galvanize
my voiceless mate. The discharge struck, flowed down:
buzzing and blue, his veins stood out like cords.
At last, a wordless bellow: I released
his shackles. Now Electro-Man, he stood erect.
I reached—the shock flung me aside.
As he leapt toward the clouds, his cape blew wide.


F.J. Bergmann

F. J. Bergmann wanted to be a monster when she grew up. Not necessarily a created monster.
Annoy her at your peril at demiurge@fibitz.com.
She is also at https://www.facebook.com/fjordbergmann and @fjbergmann.bsky.social.

Art by Briget Heidmous: :https/www.briget-heidmous.com