Rumbunctious
waves
                 rolling
one over the other
on the white sand bed,
reach for new heights
like insatiable lovers;
from her desolated corner
on the beach front,
a lone woman
watches their fervor
with an undiminishing
fire of desire, in her eyes
but none to stoke or share.

This evening, as I travel
Halfway across the city
With the gentle drops of rain
Kissing the window
Reflecting the numerous lights
Of the buzzing town

Lights that stand atop silver poles
Lights that guide speeding vehicles
Lights of skyscrapers and of humble huts
I gaze up at the embracing sky
With just a handful of stars
Smiling mockingly at the land below

Undiminishing and overpowering
I can't look away as they whisper
And I realise
They are the truth
And all that I  see before me;
The enticing shine
Are mere, blatant lies
Before the glow of the universe
Before the stardust that makes us, us.

Momus is the name men give your face,
The brag of its tone, like a long low steamboat whistle
Finding a way mid mist on a shoreland,
Where gray rocks let the salt water shatter spray
     Against horizons purple, silent.

     Yes, Momus,
Men have flung your face in bronze
To gaze in gargoyle downward on a street-whirl of folk.
They were artists did this, shaped your sad mouth,
Gave you a tall forehead slanted with calm, broad wisdom;
All your lips to the corners and your cheeks to the high bones
Thrown over and through with a smile that forever
     wishes and wishes, purple, silent, fled from all the
     iron things of life, evaded like a sought bandit, gone
     into dreams, by God.

I wonder, Momus,
Whether shadows of the dead sit somewhere and look
     with deep laughter
On men who play in terrible earnest the old, known,
     solemn repetitions of history.

A droning monotone soft as sea laughter hovers from
     your kindliness of bronze,
You give me the human ease of a mountain peak, purple,
     silent;
Granite shoulders heaving above the earth curves,
Careless eye-witness of the spawning tides of men and
     women
Swarming always in a drift of millions to the dust of toil,
     the salt of tears,
And blood drops of undiminishing war.

Her elegance, if as she pretends
is such an exquisite, priceless wine,
I'd just admire the bottle from afar, that's fine.
Relishing with out tasting it, is an
undiminishing  pleasure, beyond expression
she'd understand it in this instance

If desire eluding fulfillment, is pain
it's the ***** for me now, I 'd enjoy my trip,
even if my stubborn stance is in vain,
I'd rather die wanting, won't toe her line.
If with such allure, someone tempts too much
wants to prove a point after all this I've done to woo her,
I am not the one to submit, say uncle.
Let me make sure I'd rob the very thought
from her and keep it in a dark cave, as a treasure
for some future hunter  in search of ego's glitter
of a woman, that was robbed once and for all.