[B]There is a silver cloud in the moonlit night,
Where two golden threads hang down:
To suspend a cushion within a swing,
And a maiden in a silken gown.
She gazes dreamily at the stars aloft,
With fantasies divine,
That she is as a flower, petals spread,
Sweet as a glass of sparkling wine.
A lover comes to taste the sweetness
Of her infatuation,
Perfect stallion of a man indeed
That ravishes her sweet oblation.
So she who wishes only in a dream,
Receives ten thousand real kisses,
Coursing through her veins as liquid fire,
Which lift her to the heights of unknown blisses
All the world hears the thunder of his laughter,
And sees the lightning of his caress,
As he draws her forth,
And lifts her dress.
Ecstacy explodes her mind and curls her toes.
She digs her nails into reality;
And wraps her arms around this perfect love,
To hold him for infinity
Relentless in the passions of his conquest,
This airborne warrior of the sky,
Consumes her every whispered, wanton thought.
Entwined in love... to lofty heights they fly.
[/B]
This poem was inspired by a moonlit night
many years ago. I walked into the back yard.
There was a lovely young woman (then my wife) sitting in a
yard swing, dressed only in a light gown. I saw
her past the fountain and the pool, lost in her thoughts.
I remember feeling all these passionate ideas as we made love in the swing. The images of the garden statuettes gave the impression of Greek mythology, as we became one with each other in our garden sanctuary.
I wrote the poem many years later while enjoying the awesome power of a thunderstorm while living alone in Oklahoma City.
Was it all imagined... or was it reality?
steve
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| Passions and Thunderstorms (mildly erotic poem)* |
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