saying goodnight

Sometimes I stare at her
for nothing more than
the purest warmest pleasure
of seeing her face again,

of recalling once more
quite gently the touch of
her hand pressed in mine
guiding eager my steps,

of tasting tantalized
her luscious lips as most
passionately she kissed
mine deeply dreaming.

It is not that I could now
or ever feverish forget
her eyes, her sighs, her heart
ardently beating magically so.

Rhiannon, my lovely moon,
mistress of untold mischief
making merrily the very
voracious souls of men

to dance extraordinarily,
simply for the sake of slaking
their thirsty desires on wiry
frames and twisting sheets.

She too, delicious moon,
must come and slowly go
only to return the following
night ever without fail.

So too must my love depart
while I belying loss, smiling
cast her the gentlest glance
while aching to touch her again.

I know she will return, and
it is not the fear of losing her
that prompts me once more
her beautiful face to peruse,

rather it is simply this: that in
seeing her again, I feel such
immense joy that I would happily
stare once again and again, recalling

her eyes, her sighs, her heart.

Salt Lake City 13 June 2022

4 thoughts on “saying goodnight

    • Dear poet, your understanding of words, of meanings, of feelings flowing is as always beyond anything I have ever known. I am honored that you would still take the time to read and respond to my wanderings. Thank you, M.


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