Passion Poem by John Lars Zwerenz

PASSION

I look upon the moon, just dazing,
At its alabaster fingers, flowing, hazing,
As they set over the briars and the sallow reeds,
The myrtles, the oaks and the minty, fresh,
Scattered, breeze-ferried seeds
Which settle like snow
Upon your pale and supple flesh!

The cormorants quivering below
Adore you and that lovely look I know: -
(Your sweet, capricious countenance,
And your pert,
Regal, raven bow.)

Let us dance;
Lift your skirt,
Pace your pretty feet
Upon the dirt,
Next to the statutes, the belvedere,
Where the roses and the vines meet.

The terra-cotta sculpture
Far and near
Shall gloriously capture
The gleam of your pearly, milk-white toes.

Let us wander where the billowing turf flows,
Into the hush of the fragrant countryside,
Where lush, rare, redolent blooms abide!

And after you have run into the tide
Of tall, tender bushes, with blades green and wide
You shall recline
In the emerald wine
Of the holly hay,
Of the boundless meadow.
And I shall love you in that furrow,
Until every long ray
Of the moon has died.