Sunday, August 24, 2014

Silver Swans

O you are satisfied and glad to taste
My lips like wild strawberries, and to rest
Your head upon the frail tides of my breast
Where beats my heart. But O the winter waste
When I with hold the loveliest from you.
Desire has bound you in a warm embrace. . .
A bond that keeps you from the holy place
I open breathless to a chosen few.
You own but fair externals. . . my white skin;
The way my hair grows like a golden tent
In which to snare your kiss, but I lament
That bread and body are enough to win
Your love. O claim the other half and find
The silver swans that float upon my mind!


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