One Night of Ligea
ONE NIGHT OF LIGEIA
Half from anxiety, half terror born,
I see her rising breasts, from pages torn
Out from a dream played out not long ago,
I knew I'd not forget, or ever know,
a lock of hair fell to where lace is worn.
The beauty of her eyelids vagrant line
becoming much a part of Poe's, and mine,
as candle light from distant chandelier
reflected from her eagerness to tear,
and made each teardrop fall in sparkled shine.
The night progressing through what's meant to be,
discov'ry of a soul mate's constant plea,
her hair of mellow brown fell to my face,
and fancied every nerve, throughout our chase,
while love's sweet ending, touched the two of we.
Near in to feigning death, add to the spell,
she weaved throughout the night, we loved too well!
And when the end began, our Fifth Alarm
gave cadence to our pace out of the norm,
and brought the ending only Poe could tell.
Sweet love! Sweet dream! We died into the flame
from lack of heart to play out love's sweet game,
and hope to keep the ending constantly,
Orgasm of the soul, for Poe and me,
as close as love may come to stay the same.
© ron wilson (aka Vee Bdosa the Doylestown Poet)
aka Ron Arbuthnot
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