Pressed rose, sweet suckle, did we savour
in the brush of a summers eve moving-
fresh, as an evening breeze o'er Thames.
Moon spurred our moment of Bogart and Hepburn
'neath its beaconed smile ever lambent...,
quite audaciuosly.
Eye-drenched by showers of anthrocite,
tiny stars, what metaphor for a poem, you say....
Your beauty beholds my desire, I reply.
We made love 'neath th' crescent Moon
'til the Sun rose, painting our silhouettes...,
quite artistically...
FjR-MMXVI
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Wow awesome. The way u mention the moon is so poetic n pleases my lunar lover heart. The wording was splendid here throughout. Kudos. Pls do review my latest poem too called 'Poetry Commentar