This Richer Wine of Green
A lass thus dressed half-brash with gown that touched
The edges of my seeing eye ablush.
This richer wine of green, bedeviled beast —
Yes, all her fault unraveled tongue, my speech.
An inch of time opened the myriad
Of seasons...the best of solar systems —
The creaking door alarming with her eyes.
Divine, this emerald city. I’m lost
Between her thighs (she knows not yet). Those eyes!
Oh lovely catlike eyes - the crescent gems
Beguile this slave. Her gown with chains of green.
Hark all! Look away men...her curls do hiss.
Like a seaman at siren’s call, there’s fear —
But no recall of land nor maiden’s face.
The ghostlike mist of Northern lights, her hem.
I’m stitched just right, a ratchet gear of knees.
12/7/2019
Green Dress Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Julia Ward
10 syllables each line
Most in Iambic Pentameter
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