Wednesday, February 6, 2008

In the midst

In sweet surrender, I fondle your tired soul,
In the eyes of God I consume all that majesty,
ah, such intimate touch, a splendid vacuity.

Like the mists of June, your brown eyes sing thy hymn;
And your lips are a garden that adorns the world,
All this glory that abhors the inanities of my mind.

Yet, in sadness, I leave a glimpse of paradise,
of love, of remembrance, in your kindred breasts,
for men are dreamers, foolish victims of thy caress.

In the midst of the tranquil night, I mourn,
The devil shall whisper to my ears, oh, I implore,
In disdain, may the gods have mercy upon my soul!