The Piquant Sun

I behold the aurora from the open cerulean, Descending down to the narthex of the east. The first glimpse awakens the phoenix o'er the yon Caribbean, And awakens my beloved's soul who still sleeps sun-kiss'd. Filtered into the boudoir of my dear damsel, The scarlet rays osculate her pinkish cheeks. And her slumberous hairs with their swaying tails, Waltz to the zephyr from the northern peaks. The cupid's essence with a crimson glimpse, Perches o'er her yawning eyes and blushing face, And makes her warm in her auroral dreams, With its divine fragrance of amorous grace. How tacitly the piquant sun with its alluring arms, Filches her sleep and kisses her lips too warm! And plays too sly with bewitching charms, To allure my girl into the morning's swarm. Her skin bedaubed with the hazel tint of love, And her voice now sweeter as Beethoven's strings. Thus all my gratitude to the blest star above, Must be offered on behalf of the mortal beings. Thy chiaroscuro amid the swathes of bare skies, Gleams as an epiphany o'er varied lands of men, And bless each soul with thy ambrosial eyes, Till the apogee of life into a little grain.