Monday, September 27, 2021

Méta II

Crisp air of your essence, 

clarity of its bouquet,

overwhelms all sense.


You mock my ardor,

but I will not surrender.

God was hardest upon

the most ardent.


I love the chase as much as capture.

I know both sides of rapture.

In your arms cast down or 

taken up is equal pleasure. 






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