John Lars Zwerenz (1-5-69 / Kew Gardens, New York, USA)
My Eternal Beloved
I cannot let go
Of the woman I have seen,
With long, black, wavy hair,
In sanctified visions, soft, serene.
I cannot walk away
From her dark, brown, raven eyes
Where mystic courtyards dwell,
Where slender, silver fountains rise.
A blond haired beauty
Would not be her.
Nor would be a red haired queen.
I know the very spirit of my only, cherished love.
It is of cinnamon, vanillin dreams and eglantine.
It is of rapturous streams of shaded, purple wine,
Of paradise above.
Her hands are of ivory,
Her face is white and fair.
I am destined to deny
All other angels who breeze-blown rove
In the worldly mosaic of the summery air.
My God, my God, how I shall sob and cry
Until I have kissed her in a sovereign, majestic, sacred lair.
My God, my God, deliver to me soon,
This ineffable radiant saint of the skies,
Who possesses the rain, the sun, the moon,
Sable symphonies of dew,
Holy rhapsodies of sighs.
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