...written as though by Mr. Sark...
As though I slumber, you come to me,
All disguise and subtlety.
I, the Dreamer, unadorned,
But you, my Love, alter infinitum.
From your hair to lips, to skin to clothes,
I wonder that I recognize
The flux in which you trawl the globe,
such extremes do you comprise.
Paris. Hair the hue of child's candy floss
Corset leather black as the impasse
That siezed my throat as slow you sang,
Tempting, smoky--ignorant of the Sturm und Drang
Within this chest,
As instead 'twere Khasineau that you caressed.
To your purpose used you he,
Careless of my heart that newly beat
To lock in battle, based in love or intellect--
Sweet, you abandoned me to this new effect.
Which 'til then the Dreamer had not met,
And which now cannot decide if 'twere better to forget.
To lay to rest the thought of you,
The sight and rush with each new
Encounter, where are matched our dual fates,
And Destiny doth braid, in plait,
Of union, anticipate, someday to come,
Where we, coupled, will sleep and die, as one.
Disclaimer:This work is not affiliated in any way with the ABC spy series Alias, or, for that matter, Mr. Sark, whose poetry--until such time as he wishes to make it public--remains unsung, unfeted, and largely unknown.
by: Neftzer 2002 (c)
Feedback Appreciated!
Mr. Sark Writes Loves Poetry