Curves Are My Pleasure. Crescent Moons Poem by james watkin

Curves are my pleasure; crescent moons;
Sea-horse and blown glass.
Sundaes, smiles; that smooth tracked for bay.
Surfed wave. Snoozed by dune grass.

Winding in hills, hid in winding;
Byways, summer-forgot.
A sunshade; the ringlets therein.
Courtyard fount. Classic pot.

Melodic-strong, what wraps round
A fable, balletic.
Delineator's sleight that flies off
It all; brushing frantic!

Since what I more than peek at rates
As undebauched beauty
Apologize I not for another term
Of Sensual Geometry.