...written as though by Mr. Sark...
Would you drink with me, lady-mine?
And let me blot your lips of excess wine?
That darkly stains the dimpled mouth,
Spilling o'er, no thought to couth
And begs me press my own to thine
To taste. Not sweet, but stinging bitter,
For passion holds a share of vinegar
Meant to temper, to restrain,
Yet makes me bold, ere again
I stop to reconsider
This quest, a pyre on which, self-thrown,
Willingly I submit; my soul you own.
'Tis yours to use howe'er you wish:
Abuse or tend, to flay or kiss.
Or, dare I hope, to plait in round
With yours to form devotion's crown.
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 2003 (c)
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