When she is done making love
to the countless poets, painters, sculptors,
the wannabe rock stars , the humble jazz
musicians, those “avant-garde” theatre performers,
& the plethora of photographers with
(The numerous images of her naked body
captured on various media).
No ivory statue will be erected in her honour
Not marble, nor cheap bronze.
Clay and Play-Doh will suffice.
She gets no token for any of the
Inspiration she gave
No appreciation for the art
she helped to create.
Nothing for her withering beauty
Only broken ballads written for her
poems dedicated to her destructive sexuality
(so raw and vivid men step over their mothers
just to Fuck her).
And when they are done with her
She is no longer modest.
Her intentions misconstrued
Her life: ridiculed & examined
(She dances like a nymph in the night)