Dissection

What is love? Can the moon tell me For all its life seducing hearts? What seasons are there for it, that I May wait its coming or pick it Like wild flowers flooding the pastures of the eye. You far off malignant star, do not lie How did you from only gas make such dust To tumble over waterfalls of feeling? O God, you have a strange way with me That only from words' slings of history For slain doubt provide confidence That I may trust you who I do not see Working where living faith contests anxiety. And so as to you My hands turn from bright votaries With panging heart to touch her form And taste the sweet hibiscus of her lips To chart my course by her driving star And berth my body between her hips. Yet though my eyes cannot see her beauty To which no other beauty compares And my ears drink not nectars of her melody But upon her soul have fixed my stare And read her heart like a poem here.