Softly; silently; gently.
I close my eyes and
drip onto my lips like a fine
wine – lucid yet full; light yet intoxicating;
Only comparable to the saccharine perfume of
Heavenly spring lilacs,
the friendly sight of an embracing morning mist,
or the mild touch of a warming midsummer rain.
Oh, Luna, how your radiance does beguile many.
Warm and sympathetic are you;
bold yet timid are you,
behind your imperceptible veils.
How I would I were to consummate my
sensual desires – beside a still pool of moonlight,
alone; bare, and acquiesce to my own
narcissus mooring in its likeness.
Touch me tender with your
Entreat me for one last occasion.
I assure you it shall never be known
what was between us;
just this once, or,
perchance, some other instance.
Dear moon, please tell me that on this night,
none other than mine own eyes shall be the
sole keeper of such radiant and exquisite beauty.
Steal away into my memory, beloved moon, steal away…
[A poem from earlier juvenilia, about two years ago.]
Ah! I will taste that dew, for me ’tis meet,/And when the moon her pallid face discloses,/I’ll gather some by spells, and incantation.