- Non-Erotic Poetry
- Slow Movements, the Dance
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Evenings are times for reflection,
genuflection
The hues are sombre,
the skies move towards the inky blackness of night
He likes that , does she?
The One thrives,
Takes His strength makes it more
she subsides and rests ,
letting Him grow stronger,
what was she once , if not His to use
will she be thus when the morn comes
and the Sun rides in ,
resplendent in His raiment,
watching the ends of Time ravel the hem of the sojourn
Often the peals clashed, the lazy circles the feather makes ,
are those of note,
she cries out,
sending plaintive calls of thrushes and trills?
Make more music He said and
played His sonata on her
an aria to the senses and then
the finale to the Dance
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