Helle van Aardeberg

Raw, the very idea is ide­al­is­ti­cally
the quirky dreamer. Who fills
my lab­o­ra­tory with snip­pets. Mad
could-be-somethings, overflow

the rim. Of seem­ing pos­si­bil­ity,
I’m so fond. Swan-diving off
of know­ing. Not to laugh when break­ing
its sur­face. May take my teeth,

sac­ri­ficed. To her silent, naked body
down below. Her rip­ples mes­mer­ize
the sol­u­ble. She draws toward peril
those who dare. The hid­den to seek