The Red Candles Are Almost Burn To The Brim Poem by Gert Strydom

The red candles are almost burn to the brim
and the faint golden light still flickers,
in the wind that goes through the bedroom.

Your eyes are big and golden and it’s like
I can climb down in the depts of them
and there’s a dropp of sweet glittering on your brow.

Your light skin is soft against me
and I see how your one breast still prominently pointed pink-brown
rises up and down while you breathe

The wine glasses are empty and the scent
of Berg kelder port
hangs strong in the air,

but your lips are much sweeter and more caressing
than any wine and it’s as if our passion
doesn’t want to stop tonight.

Somewhere in the garden a bird calls its mate
and I hear the church bell clanging eleven o’clock,
but the night is young and your lips tickle my ear.