Primavera, Sandro Botticelli
if I were to manifest
your magic as my divine dusk,
O musk of damask starlight's glow,
must I slow-trace
soul’s rhyme,
explore the exotic ecstasy
within exquisite exclamations
and if,
to frame the flame of faith
within your impulses,
I must tiptoe down
the altar of your undeniable heat,
sway ~ sanguinely in sync
with the rhythm of scribed similes,
devour the devoted desires
of dulcet darkness,
for you and the hues
of silent sighs ~
breathtakingly belong to
the ache within my
sleepless highs …
so tonight,
listen to the
cadence of these eyes ~
f a
l l
i
n g ~
compulsively, catastrophically,
like a storm of firefly feathers,
breathing you…
you are mine ~ O flower moon,
in muteness and in musicality,
of forest-deep passion,
clothing my conscience
in sweet compassion,
my pulse in magnetic motion,
a breeze of zephyr ~
undefinable
and I am the archaic echo
alliterating the heavenly nights
with unrehearsed reverence,
wanting to home the silhouette
of worded wilderness…
to feel me, weave me warm
as unspoken thoughts ricochet
~ an inescapable intuition ~
quenched beneath Cupid's drizzles
of love’s sacred rain…
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