The Distance Of Her Gaze

13 Aug

Were she but the moon,
and I, but cast shadow,
would she wake to dawn,
or still the night to fair;
and, o’, how graceful
be the skies she wanders,
how envious her stars,
how sweet her fragrant air.

Were she but the sea,
and I, her crested waves,
would she rise with sigh,
or break with feral groove;
and, o’, how mindful
be the shores she travels,
how echoed be her tides,
how soft her every move.

Were she but the form,
and I, but spirit borne,
would her flesh give life,
or consume that of me;
and, o’, how supple
be the hands she tenders,
how warming be her breath,
how vast her gaze does see.

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Posted by on August 13, 2016 in My Poetry



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