Maroochydawn
A year has passed but not July’s shiver,
the bed is warm and in the air a chill
yet it’s not the cold that makes me quiver
but the eros of our winter idyll.
She is up and rising at the cockcrow,
her slumber over, her allure begun -
she comes to me parting her wet furrow
and I am inside the gates of heaven!
That matrix of life and morning glories -
that corona in its ring at gloaming,
and brightest of all celestial bodies
your lips desiring and my eyes roaming.
All else forsaking at dawn’s early light
I lay smitten from our midwinter night.
Written: July 1998
|