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 nave 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) ("On the Water's Edge")


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