for Pablo Neruda
In your poems
the sun sang
yellow invitations,
eagles swam
in lilac ink,
butterflies discoursed
on desire,
the moon
whispered white
mysteries.
Your syllables said:
these are my arms, Lady,
lose that silky frock
and come into them.
My love feeds
on your love,
Love.
My lips
are for you.
You are mine;
I am yours.
We stand here,
the briefest moment;
let us stand together,
naked in eternity.
Dare to embrace this,
you murmured,
for it is all
the world can offer.
Eyelids fluttered out
ardent yeses;
sighs replied;
fingers danced;
many dresses
glided to the floor
with tiny gasps
of imagined pleasure.
Flesh and spirit
conjoined.
What woman,
could resist
the implacable sweetness
of your songs?
What woman,
having a heart
to hear,
would want to try?
- mce
Jul 1, 2015
Jul 1, 2015 at 8:43 PM UTC
for Pablo Neruda
In your poems
the sun sang
yellow invitations,
eagles swam
in lilac ink,
butterflies discoursed
on desire,
the moon
whispered white
mysteries.
Your syllables said:
these are my arms, Lady,
lose that silky frock
and come into them.
My love feeds
on your love,
Love.
My lips
are for you.
You are mine;
I am yours.
We stand here,
the briefest moment;
let us stand together,
naked in eternity.
Dare to embrace this,
you murmured,
for it is all
the world can offer.
Eyelids fluttered out
ardent yeses;
sighs replied;
fingers danced;
many dresses
glided to the floor
with tiny gasps
of imagined pleasure.
Flesh and spirit
conjoined.
What woman,
could resist
the implacable sweetness
of your songs?
What woman,
having a heart
to hear,
would want to try?
- mce
