| Realization |
|
| I
fear |
| the
mischief in her blue-eyed kitten-smile |
| and
could it be that it |
| was
she herself |
| who
stole |
| the
sun's September glow |
| so
playfully to brush it in her hair |
| and
would I never dare admit |
| I've
been distracted by |
| her
subtle quiet elegance |
| and
graceful velvet poise |
| some
time before? |
|
| I
fear |
| the
quiet tranquil waters of her soul |
| untroubled
warm inviting |
| but
with a depth |
| that
is to me |
| unfathomed
and unknown |
| And
having come here never to resist |
| I
shall be drawn |
| in
my naïve impulsive way |
| to
seek her out beyond the water's edge |
| confessing
if I venture out too far |
| I
know I'd drown |
|
| I
fear |
| the
haunting of the memory of her touch |
| of
silent ecstasy's embrace |
| when
time itself's adrift |
| so
tenderly astray in her perfume |
| and
dare my lips trace that exquisite line |
| that
runs along her slender chin |
| to
ebb in trembling adore |
| upon
her offered neck and throat |
| and
will the thought of her that time |
| invade
the fitful turmoil of my dreams |
| until
I wake? |
|
|
| ©
Jon Bohrn (1997) |
