While it feels in the noontide, just steps through the trees,
As the sky bleeds to twilight – the sweetest disease.
On a walk through the maples, an itch of romance,
As a warm breeze courts Eros at twilight’s advance.
Just a glance woos the shivers, through come hither eyes,
Nervous hands - now perspiring, by moonlight’s devise.
Down a path softly swaying, then slowly a waltz,
Till a feverish tango as all reason halts.
Soon the knees start to wobble and vision subsides,
As the world falls from focus in dizzying strides.
There’s no end to the sickness on warm summer strolls,
Should the moon cast its toxin on amorous souls.
Copyright © david mohn | Year Posted 2017
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