The Island of Cythera

The Island of Cythera Sensuous gossamer fancy stares at infatuations excited gaze, Without lips parting, speaks through yawning sabre eyes, A lady of highest morals bound. Displayed , dressed in prayer and faith, chaste in everything save choice, As beauty stands in essence path, what motive should I plead? To laze a life so casually, Under the pensioned willow tree and watch skin deep her beauty breathe, Each breath I breathe for us. Her purest rose petal lips, a silhouette of unmatched symmetry, Spreads her unruffled wings and hesitates, waiting loves telling kiss, Would that first kiss make mine its home? Flowing hair matched by her words alone, fills the shallowness of my youth, As to did Caesar ignore the wisdom of a sooth Loves death sure to follow. Nomadic skies, rainbows filled, emboldened, emblazed every scent and mood, Embalmed, embroidered dreams swathed in a lilac breeze, No past conceived. Cythera resplendent draped a vassal to my unearthly tastes, Where beauty is skin deep, as deep as eyes may allow, And age divined by heart and soul, not lines of elegiac old. And battles fought of conscience, where no cemeteries they need, And suits of armour reserved for knights are worn upon the sleeve, No judge or jury within this realm, A world bereft of sin, an inner sobriety of perfection leaves me wanting, My chagrin.