Epyllion

Note: I used to sometimes write poetry with elaborate rhyme schemes, and this is a good example of one (the scheme being ABACCDDBEEFGGF). Again this piece is not autobiographical; it is purely imagined; but hopefully it has an authentic feel all the same.


The night was very beautiful; I watched you
entranced, as a child watches clouds in the sky;
I was more than in love, and sorrowful too,
I felt if I touched you, you would like sand
slip through my fingers, not able to stand
the pressure of intimacy, my gaze's intensity;
your skin was so pale, perhaps the simile
was milk, like mortification, a sad goodbye
dripping from my fingers, the aftermath
of a foolish fantasy, a ripped photograph
one carries around, one hopes to reassemble
the pieces, rewind the falling milk
back into the jug, the curves of silk,
but knowing fixed things can only resemble.

It was a summer night; you were in bra
and panties blacker than the firmament,
my hand on your shoulder, you chose a star
to stake your life on; my eyes chose
your left breast, to treasure through lows,
to worship on the darkest days, to cup
like the horizon the sun, swallowed up
by my hands' possession of it, the scent
of an unknown perfume rising to my nose.
Soon the sublime days will come to a close:
you will have known I cherished you;
your body assaulted by disease and decay,
will retain its dignity, the cool memory
of my hands on it, will render it anew.

The stars and moon are brighter tonight;
this is our last night together, lovers
who have never known lust, whose light
is more pure than the aura of a saint;
our love for one another's without taint,
only tenderness has passed my lips, dear,
as our bodies crushed every neurotic fear,
I knew only you, only your long fingers
could fit my body's holes, its contours,
and I dreamt of us on fragrant shores,
running into royal blue waves, so alive,
no-one could invade our earthly paradise,
only one another fill our pristine eyes,
and our lips alone could help us survive.

But the night always fades, like my memories;
the marriage we knew in the firmament
breaks apart with the original continent,
and the day bathes in light its separate bodies.