Summer Afternoon

Dear Friends,

This is sort of like, "reading along with mother". I invite you to read this poem by yourself, aloud, or silently to yourself, or to listen to it being read... or perhaps, read along with me.

I hope you enjoy it.

Could I believe how lonely I could become,

Or could have been, had I not known?

If you had never been so beautiful

As to my eyes when first I looked into your own.

If I had lived in blessed ignorance of how

Such charms could be enthroned in one sweet soul;

Had been oblivious of how a lazy smile

Could rip my heart to shreds within no time at all.

You simply turned a glance towards me

On a languid Summer afternoon,

By slowly moving, just a fraction to the right,

To gaze obliquely in my eyes. You smiled.

A gentle voice came tumbling lazily

From out that smooth and faultless neck;

Perfectly dented whence that sound should come.

Moist lips; perfection in a curve.

Arched brows; each subtle line

So artfully drawn by God’s sweet hand.

No lovely detail spared. Oh careful artisan.

Those perfect mirrors of the lapidary’s art:

Rock-crystal, amethyst and jade,

Lapis lazuli and ancient artefacts

Would flee in anger from your faultless orbs

If that your eyelids had not softly shaded

Those most perfect eyes; yet raised themselves they did;

Speckled gold and green disarming flecks

Of sweetly insidious charm; no calumny planned or designed.

And yet they opened. Innocent and dark as night

To gaze so lovingly at me and so to draw me in.

Oh that you had not that sweet scar upon your chin

That scar that does not mar your lovely face,

But simply draws attention to your remaining perfection.

I curse each black and luxurious lash.

I curse each raven thread that lies so perfectly

Along the lines of your soft and darkly glowing lids.

Why are they so pure, so thick, so gently curved?

Why do they lie so sweetly on your sleeping cheeks?

And why should lips be full as yours

And moist and full as freshly broken pomegranate;

Each translucent jewelled seed, moist, oozing sweet perfection,

Lit from within, miniscule lamps of fragrant syrup.

Ripe perfection to press upon my own in harmony.

And could I have walked away from this,

Retraced my steps, unwilling feet to escape your snare?

Held up a dagger and a breastplate lest your charm

Could show how lonely I could become?

If I had fallen beneath your lovely spell

Or could have done, had I not known,

How you had been so very beautiful

As to my eyes when first I looked into your own.

But yes, I walked into your snare. Charmed for life.

And now I am entwined within the threads;

The loveliness that you wear so perfectly, so well.

Your face, your hair, your lovely eyes,

Your gentle touch, your charming voice.

And if I would break free, and Lord, I might,

I’d need to leave my heart, my memory, my mind,

And all five senses that would be useless ever more,

For without the person that you are, they’d pine and die

For want of gazing on you, feeding on your loveliness:

The sound, the scent, the sight, the touch. The taste

Of your sweet lips. And if those senses should take leave,

Then I should surely expire, like them, and be no more.