Consummation
CONSUMMATION
She came again last night
with love-lights sparkling in her ebon eyes
and honey dripping from her lovely lips
and visited my chamber in the night,
I heard her come,
I heard her footfall on my stair,
I watched the door
and saw her beauty standing there.
How lovely to be loved and love
to meld into her sacred fire,
to know myself to be a moth
to know the burning heat of this her flame,
and in the darkness of my chamber in the night
to leave my door ajar
inviting her to enter in,
to wait for her
whilst drifting into sleepiness and dream,
upon my bed of roses.
Stirring now
I know not what the cause
nor why this moth she draws
with ecstasies of fabulous desire
into her flame of love,
to be consumed, to burn, to die,
and yet, to live for her alone
upon my bed of roses.
I’ve tasted sweet before
but not like this
this silver dew upon her breath,
I’ve waited untold lives to savour this,
this love sublime, the fire divine,
I wonder if it was the dimple in my chin,
or could it be the opening in my heart
which she had made that drew her in
upon my bed of roses.
With eyes wide open
blind to all I see but she
in that sweet night I drowned again her deep eyes,
always she comes with unrehearsed surprise
and plants in me her precious seeded prize
that love which never dies.
When I recovered from the shock
and I had taken stock
‘twas she who held the key
which turned my unseen lock
so she could enter me
upon my bed of roses.
And when I thought that she would leave at dawn
she paused and drew me further in,
into such depths I’ve never been,
all this then done
in love’s embrace we both were one,
we both were gone,
no one lies here
to wet my pillow with pearlescent tears
upon my bed of fading ruby roses.
Tom.
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