The Aspect of Love
When morning doth its great eternal shine
Return to cut thine eyelids loose from sleep
That thou art risen, o, when that time cometh
When sheets of summer, slick with love's decline
Slide from thy form and to the carpet creep
For now unwantedness, and down thee runneth
A cold sweat from a passion now imprison'd--
No, wear no vesture now that thou art risen.
Thou host of waking hours, and of night,
Who hast, in that vast garden of perfection
Spent moments long and far oblivious
To any of thy senses--hold the light
Of morn, and with that lantern, shun reflection
To draw thy senses 'round thyself, and thus
Regard the majesty that doth recline
As some great Goddess 'pon her Earthly shrine.
Wherefore dost thou, in such distressing tones
Decieve her with sweet lies of normalcy?
And wherefore, with sincerest, firm conviction
Describ'st thou all her features, when 'pon stones
Thou see'st the blood-rich corpse of jealousy?
No, bind her not with such impure restriction,
For she hath beauty starker and more fierce
Than mere idealism e'er could pierce.
Now, with this light, regard thy love in slumber--
That steady breath that doth so agitate
Her stillness, and be mindful of thine own,
For thou didst, with thy lovings, chill and numb her
To such a peaceful, melancholy state
As thou see'st now--each wild, ecstatic moan
That through thy skull doth still, in echo, ring
Hath shrunk into a frail and simpler thing.
Dost thou remember that empassion'd flare
That lit the night, and lit thine eyes with thunder?
Ript open day's attire, and there did plunder
For pleasure, and for that impending scare
Of sweet release? And how that nudity
Did so reveal thee--the dark did paint with sin
Where thou would'st see the marks upon her skin
And rather, feel the direst sympathy.
Years prior, in her childhood did she lay
Upon the leaves and flowers of the garden?
Perhaps a beetle, red and spotted black
Did crawl upon her finger, and did rest--
And she, her vision knowing all, knew best
But better with the years, her gaze did harden
And tore beneath the markings on its back
To see its truth, and screaming, cast the fiend away.