The Endeavors Of Lips Poem by Michael Burch

How sweet the endeavors of lips—to speak
of the heights of those pleasures which left us weak
in love's strangely lit beds, where the cold springs creak:
for there is no illusion like love...

Grown childlike, we wish for those storied days,
for those bright sprays of flowers, those primrosed ways
that curled to the towers of Yesterdays
where She braided illusions of love...

"O, let down your hair! "—we might call and call,
to the dark-slatted window, the moonlit wall...
but our love is a shadow; we watch it crawl
like a spidery illusion. For love...

was never as real as that first kiss seemed
when we read by the flashlight and dreamed.