Lost, Not Lost
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My dearest love oft' pledged her soul,
For life, though life then took its toll,
My heart, the thread-bare casualty
Of her regrets, (though ne'er of me),
Now she breathes not, my name ...
While this fool yearns her all the same.
Her eyes recalled the burnished brown -
The choc'late lace that crimped her gown,
That frock that, for my sake, she'd worn,
And 'midst our throes of passions, torn,
Soft-daubed with moonlight blue ...
Her china skin, thus moonlit, too.
Her locks were tawny, plat'num streaked,
And framed her visage, crimson-cheeked,
They swirled those eyes - one dark abyss,
So spilled their strands to spice each kiss,
With dappled hints of fruit ...
As fingers weaved their attribute.
Her mouth, twin bows of plums, divine,
That drew their perfect match to mine,
Those pearly whites and sugar tongue,
The pride of heav'nly strains, unsung -
As moist as highland mist ...
The kind designed to find them kissed.
Her flesh bloomed as the warmest May,
Those soft-twined corners of the day
That beguile you with their fairest frill,
The sweet, veiled places, warmer still,
With treasures hidden, deep ...
Wild wonders 'midst her carnal keep.
Still, all these traits found fairer, yet,
That charming calm her arms beget -
Sweet languor of her love and limbs,
To fill my heart and hopes to brims -
Thus lost within her grace ...
The drowning depths of her embrace.
There's some who muse why I still pine
For sweet love, lost, no longer mine ...
Despite these traits and those between
It's more the things that CAN'T be seen
That I miss, dear as life ...
That cut my soul, deep as a knife ...
And wend my mem'ries, raw and rife.
Copyright © Gregory Richard Barden | Year Posted 2020
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