Poet # Ten


I didn't mean to happen upon the pair
whilst ambling through the park that night fair.
The breeze blew cool, the air smelled sweet,
apparently right for two lovers to meet.
Behind the brush veil they set to retire,
there in the shadow of St. Lucas' Spire.
They set to make art of their mutual passion
and did so, I think, in a dignified fashion.
Two became one there melding together,
nudged forward, I think, by the amorous weather.
But watching this tender consummation
I found my mind in disorientation:
I never understood this physical attraction,
how it leads to such satisfaction.
Just what is it that brings these two into one
with overwhelming passion burning like a sun?
I can't say I've ever met such grace;
I know I've yet to meet the face
and heart for which I'd give my life,
for whom I'd weather both blessing and strife.
So simple, so pristine, so primal their act
out here well hidden among this small tract
of shrubbery and the park's soft grass.
I think to these lovers, let this moment last,
and savor those touches, remember that kiss,
though the reasoning for them frankly I miss.


The End

162 comments about this poem Feed