Oh but to savor dew upon the trace
and wind the vine in spiral quilling thought
To touch this hand of soft refine and grace
and steal their lips the wine so willing sought.

Oh but to sip of passionate embrace,
Unbounded vineyards’ sweet ambrosial scent.
Embosomed o’er the realm in common place,
Clandestine verse composing just intent

For on the mome of waning moon's descent,
before the wash of passion's heated gust.
Released, one's ink now dries upon relent
as heaving eyes betray his blemished lust.

For naught sure visions met dare two entrust
Unfeigned avow in essence one to each.
Devotions bound as riven lovers must
Horizons part yet held within hand’s reach.
`
Within the dance of molten prance to breach
A trammel's net betwixt two limbs traverse.
His pining words, of her in his beseech.
Of strawberry lips and unsullied verse.

The nectar drawn of pome in sole converse
Enscripting bonds in cosmic cast of spell
Etched as poetic parables immerse
In harmony of rhythmic ritornelle

Oh cede to me thy ink from master's well
and to one's sheet thy blood of flowing grace
bequeathed to thee mine heart, in crimson swell,
when from my tomb, the last of leaves erase.

Until...

For clarification:  Nan Ness dueted with me,  her
lines (most gracious) are in a lighter blue...  It was an
enjoyable moment...