Tenderronies

The dusk slips down in lilac swells, And I am caught in dreams again— Of girls with velvet, painted eyes, Their lashes dipped in midnight rain. Their lips are full, like fruit at dusk, So ripe the moon forgets to rise, And every breath a muted hymn That trembles through the tender skies. I ache to touch their tilted chins, To feel the hush where longing grows, The place where silence wears perfume, And every pulse of wonder knows. They press against the world too sweet— Too soft for thorns, too quick to bruise. Yet still they bloom with pointed grace, Like lilacs pierced by morning’s shoes. O God, the ache that beauty leaves.