Passages to a Dark Lady….sixth part.
#51.
Come the end of Autumn will you think of me?
Those days of Summer passing, languid by the sea,
We loved through those wild days so recklessly.
But with Autumn leaves now falling,
Now come the end of the season,
Meaning lost, time gone by, a great distance,
Between thou and I..so far away from thee,
#52.
Will you recall one sweet kiss in summer’s bliss,
When cold wind blows, will you still think of me?
Now gone..no desperate acts from me,
Tho’ gone the love..the thrilling eroticy,
Let just be grateful for what once was and…
Give gentle reverence of how it came to be.
Yet still leave perchance, to fate’s possibility.
#53
‘Twas the uncertainty of the relationship,
Made it thrilling for me..and for thee?
Please..never, never stop being a mystery.
Tho’ I have not in this time laid eyes on thee,
I have a vision that all too frequent touches me,
Sending shiver of thrilling sensation over my body,
Starts near my heart and spreads over completely.
#54.
A voyeur’s desire…I do see thee…
Long, black gown, tight, kid leather gloves to the elbow,
Small clutch purse of ermine and black leather show,
Lace of emerald jewels platinum set on thou’s pale neck…
A fine slip of silk, black-stockinged legs,
High heels…………
Would you show yourself to me?
#55.
Undress the clothing from your body…slowly,
Or pray..let me?…
Gown, silken slip…no..leave the high heels on,
Fine brassier, lace underwear, let them fall to the floor,
Done, one at a time, With measured movements of soft sounds,
Would you show your scented body to me, naked,
Only to me…for that I may adore?
#56.
Circe!
Beautiful Queen of an ancient regime,
Lounging decadent on her jewelled chaise-lounge,
Feted by many suitors seeking her favours,
So she lay there in quiet contemplation..her elation.
A bowl of rich cherries at her elbow she chooses,
She plucks one from the bowl every now and then,
With slow, halting, deliberate lip movements, consumes it.
#57.
By which she both excites and taunts her suitors,
Until, deciding upon one for the night to “amuse” her,
She brazenly spits a cherry-seed to his lap,
Along with a following smile on her lips,
Disdaining the wanting eyes of those left,
Throwing careless accolades of flattery to her feet,
To see such desperate words fall dead in defeat.
#58.
The tragedy of the age is for beauty of spirit,
To become the plaything of a cabal of cognoscenti,
Mystics and priests babbling chants incoherently.
Beauty of heart become ideology of political identity,
Bending humanism into twisted individualism,
While beauty of body be scorned as futile effrontery,
So is natural evolution steered to cosmetic surgery.
#59.
That old tent-maker; Omar Khayyam’s,
Rubaiyat says ; “I often ponder on what the vintner buys,
One half so precious as the stuff he sells.”
I too ponder on a similar conundrum,
When I come to consider about thee and me,
While obvious to myself your sensual delight,
I do wonder on exchange value extracted by thee.
#60.
What value a woman’s contract with man’s incessant chatter?
So too the draw of men to feminine beauty, no case to answer,
Just to accept the situation as casual gender banter,
A silken thread woven into our life tapestry,
Precious stitch winding through mine own senses,
Like a glory-vine about trunk of an aging gum tree.
And for thine disquiet eyes, O’ Dark Lady……I indeed thank thee.
No comments:
Post a Comment