The warrior poet king sees a woman and he stops—
So does his breath:
Her arms emerge like bronze, her breasts like bubbles in bubbles,
“Who is that woman in the bath?” King David asks
“Great one, Bethsheba is her name.” His servant says with a slight bow.
“Bethsheba. Bethsheba. What a ring. Yes. Yes, she pleases me.”
“Sir, she’s married—don’t you know?—to one who serves you well,
Uriah, who is away at war for you…”
King David raises up his hand
With every golden finger jeweled.
“Enough” he says.
“I’ve heard you’re one to be discreet,” the king continues artfully,
“So now’s your chance to prove repute.”
The servant starts to rub his hands, “I see.”
The king puts a long but graceful arm around his man.
They walk together, plotting
Things that God could hear,
While the king’s velvet dress trails the dessert floor.
“She will come to me tonight?”
The king nods and a black lock falls into his face
And the world still recalls his good looks.
Now that that’s settled, how about some music?”
The king announces his song with a gentle clap
And all his servants gather round,
So he picks up his famous lyre and sings:
“Blessed is he
whose transgressions are forgiven,
whose sins are covered.”
And because King David knows his deed
His Makeup trailing down his face,
His voice like grace.