Vocanoes are creatures of the night
creeping through the dark unafraid
wearing lurid I-dare-you-to-touch-me colours.
She knows the men will flock to her side
only to glimpse the face that will launch
a thousand tons of hot ejaculate into the air--
voyeurs getting off on Gaia's lap dance.
If she blows at night, they'll see bright lava
flows creeping across the screen, hellish
halloween colours illuminating clouds
from below, twenty-four-year-old trees engulfed
in a molten Styx. A bubbling cauldron
no witch would ever stir. But give me this dark
spectacle over drab daytime TV: grey snow
transforming her dress into an Ansel Adams
landscape. Volcanoes are creatures of the night.