by Sylvia Stout
let time unwind this unkind structuring.
let the wind, unfettered, reverse this cosmic clustering.
to once again dance naked, starkissed-
fingertips entwined and tracing
shapes of every kind,
chasing shivers down your spine…
one sip of sin, one
drop of lust from your lips
ignites and fortifies the flames
which undulate across my hips.
this hold you’ve got on me- magnetic-
makes me reckless.
if the whole world’s a stage, then
we act by the light of the moon,
the birds sing our song
as the scene comes, too soon, to an end.
the curtain of night is swept out of sight;
dawn’s light bathes us in a truth
we happily disguised at dusk…
this insatiable lust-
a seemingly serendipitous tryst-
exists solely to teach us
how to capitulate, formulate
and situate ourselves for a
lifetime of burning passions;
some as magnificent and ethereal as the sun.
some as ephemeral as the comets we saw die
in the reflection of each other’s eyes.
none shall we let pass by.