Nightingales of a summer’s evening descend upon twilight moments,
With whispers of sombre starlight found
In every cup of even dropped off their heels;
Collecting in my dreams, its dew is a prayer,
Like rain-kissed berries awaiting eager hands,
Blessed by myriads for each cherry dropped.
Summer is the vessel where my hopes are baptized –
Each thought poured, a relentless stream,
Dissolving in a drop of fantasy, whose pampered pain
Enchants me like a bell ringing through a fevered night,
Where darkness welcomes the warmth of your tender intimacies,
As I wrestle the whimpers of your sweet death.
You’re the Venus of womanhood, with stirring movements timely in me;
Breasts dripping, like twin globes bent contrite
Whose cotton softness is a buoyant melody piercing the breeze,
With butterfly lightness, meeting the caress of your billowing hair,
Where I might relax my sympathies, ever so gently upon its heavenly crests
And loose my throbbing, with its rivers of milkiness.
Within the undulations of your swollen sphincters,
My mind hides dry and obsessed in the echoes of supple beauty;
Hopelessly I envision purpurating lips open,
Whose lilac fragrance blossoms eternal between your thighs;
Punishing – the feeling of distant ecstasies,
Whenever I suffer the bounteous affectation of your passing.
The last look is always the deepest,
When nonchalance becomes a virus of the season,
For each second your redolence is the world drifting away,
Awaiting every glimpse resounding in my soul,
As everywhere I look, I see you;
Nightingale of a summer’s evening, I harken your last call.
