Sitting in Michael's Lap
I never saw, before this day, the green
That hides within the azure of your eyes;
If ever I had dared, I might have seen
These things I've just begun to realize ...
If ever I had thought to brush your cheek
So gently thus, with feather fingertips,
Perhaps I'd not have paused so long to seek
The singular attention of your lips ...
Nor waited to enjoy the dance of tongues
That washes warm desire upon my skin;
Nor missed the ecstacy of eager lungs
That savor every time I breathe you in ...
Nor would I only now perceive the thrill
That speeds the rhythm sounding in my breast;
The rush that marks the melting of my will
Would not be new, if only I'd confessed
That countless times, on many sleepless nights,
I'd watch these scenes unfold before my eyes;
Dismissing them as fanciful delights
To realms of wistful smiles and dreamy sighs ...
But this embrace has left me so beset,
With every moment, every breath sublime;
That I can muster nothing of regret,
Nor whisper of lament for misspent time.
Full fathom five thy father lies,
Of his bones are coral made,
Those are pearls that were his eyes;
Nothing of him that doth fade
But doth suffer a sea-change
Into something rich and strange...
--William Shakespeare, from The Tempest
[This message has been edited by Skyfyre (edited 02-03-2000).]