Our Bastion By The Sea Poem by John Lars Zwerenz

Our Bastion By The Sea

Let us walk barefoot in the morning dew,
Upon the fresh grass,
As the hours pass.
Let me think of naught but you,
As we stroll upon the path among the greenery.
We shall find flowers bright,
In the celestial scenery.
And your fine, fair neck,
Of an aromatic, alabaster hue,
Shall perfume the wooden deck
Beside the undulating sea.
And you shall think of naught but me,
As the palm trees shiver
Wondrously in the breeze aquiver
Which cradles the blooms by the lutescent beach.
No blessed boon shall be out of reach.
The meadow is alive with butterflies;
And your dusky, sweet eyes
See only my chest and face.
I shall take you to a sacred place,
Where roses cast a comely spell,
Aside the bubbling, azure-blue well.
And I shall remove my shirt,
To receive your kisses of passion and grace,
As your eyes are enticed by my masculine beauty.
We shall be basked in a tender symphony,
Which comes from the spacious drawing room,
In our palace of white, blue and gray.
Devoid of all darkness and gloom,
This melody shall have its glorious sway,
Painting purple sunsets at the end of day.
And when your delirious kisses find their way
Into a deeper expression of our love,
The fountains in the courtyard shall rise above
To the glistening firmament, which lends more glory to the dying day.
Then the soft ascension of the mystic moonlight
Shall clothe with veils the statues in the square.
And I shall sanctify your lips
With reciprocal kisses in the summery air.
We shall stray to the gilded archway,
Alone with God, in a garden of white,
Where marble seats have been crafted for our delight.
We shall gaze into the shadows of one another's eyes,
And I shall know what it is to be you,
And you shall know the poet's skies.
For our psyches shall blend in spirit and in mind,
In our beauteous bodies,
Of a glorified kind.
And our deep, romantic colloquies
Shall be said without sighs,
Without one word, o, musician of reticence!
No longer plagued by the burden of concupiscence,
We know freedom in our caresses, and bye and bye,
The moonlight dresses the bastion's curtains,
With a tranquility no soul can deny.
There are no rains,
For the heavens are dry,
And bestow only sunlight and moon glow,
To the heights of the spires,
To the gardens below.
I regard your ardor as sacred fires,
Never to be extinguished,
Only to linger, languished.
For here in paradise we only know
Profound repose in between our peaks
Of passionate union- and who can tell
After the end of time
You may indeed become a mother,
And I a father, weaving rhyme.
The brook beside our bastion is lined with moss,
Watercress and eglantine.
And the tender breezes gently toss
The roses in the archway, the lilacs and the vine.
Take my soft, manly hand into your own.
Let us lie gazing at the setting sun,
Among the brooks and the marble, amid the walls of stone,
Until we are once more perfectly one.
All of heaven softly sleeps
When we bestow our hearts, each to each;
Even The Trinity allows us to be alone in a way.
So we can love in privacy,
In the dewy meads, in the dales, in the tall, slender hay.
And the swan on the lake joyfully leaps,
Next to the oaks which bend their leafy heads into the pool.
(We both were raised in Mary's school.)
And still more beauty, absorbed by your eyes,
Of lofty boughs, of cypress trees,
Stirs within you further symphonies,
As a rainbow paints the clearing skies.
The night, gently rising,
Over us, in the field,
Is a portent of rapture
Which the moon is sure to yield.
Let us capture
Each mellifluous song,
Eloquent, majestic, exquisite and long,
In our ballroom which overlooks the borders of the bay.
We shall dance tonight,
Until the night slips away.
Entranced with your gaze,
And you with mine,
We shall glide across the ivory floor,
Bejeweled with turquoise, swirling in the bright,
Golden, gilded candlelight.
Your long, white dress
Shall twirl in my caress,
As we witness
The moon rise and fall.
Our love profits others, one and all.
So Christ has blessed our union most graciously,
As we dance in the evening, into the golden dawn;
Outside the willow trees brush softly against the silvery lawn,
Where we walked without shoes in the morning dew,
By our bastion near the rolling, azure sea.
And I shall think of naught but you.
And you shall think of naught but me.

John Lars Zwerenz