Love, That Fertile Sea

My eyes egressed the shade, into milk
and honey of sea-tossed maids,
so captivated with blue eyes’
undertow and coral’s lustless
lips.  My emotions ever-laid in
solace and somber stays, stretched
and deepend in poetries’ plays.
How my hands, made of bees,
saught her heart to pollinate,
and wash tassles of glades
to folly and blue winds to rain.
That fire I hoped to wreck and raize,
to shadows of forests make, and glades
to farms that yield pollen my gullet slakes.
My netting was weak and I could hear
the hum of impotent hands,  so
unskilled in chest and cage, unable
your young heart to sting, unlike your
old veins to sway.  Until doting night
covers my farm and forests flayed,
may my hands roam ever-more,
my bay broken, trapped at shore.

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