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Poem

Stars, and sheer stockings
(with reinforced toes),
constellate verses
from words of plain prose.
Shoelessness, shyness---
so unlike the world---
make a sweet refuge
for passions unfurled.
In rapture's splendor,
I kneel down---enthralled
(outside, Ephebe's
gut wrenches, appalled).
My Muse turns pleasure
to ultimate bliss,
giving her sheer-sheathed
feet for my kiss.
(Outside, Ephebe
appoints himself judge;
but his conniptions
are based on a grudge.)
Here is my Muse in
pleased intimation,
bringing a surely
sheer inspiration.
Hers is the presence
in my poems (this means
she frolics throughout
the settings and scenes).
And that sweet presence
is joy to partake---
all the night long in---
the love that we make.
Mitylene banished,
Gomorrah destroyed;
peace, in her soft voice,
is fully deployed.
To real Salvation,
she led me---a soul
troubled and broken:
and Christ made me whole.
How can I thank Him
for that, then for her;
then for the blessings
that keep my hope sure?
In Christ, our love is
not bound to time's whim,
but ever secure---
committed to Him.
Therefore the sky's arc,
the moon and the sun
no longer clock us
as we become one;
as in Love's temple,
on me she bestows
stars, and sheer stockings
(with reinforced toes).
 
Starward

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