Surprise fills me; did Rachel look this way,
Or Leah, surprising marriage bride?
Oceans - too trite a trope!
I need the excess of some Elizabethan sonneteer,
Yet without Puritanical, modest excess.
Like Aphra Behn, fantasies support my art.
No, eyes. Beauty lies in all,
But in the eyes the soul breathes clear
As if a zephyr stroked my sleeping form
And stroking, stokes the life within.
No dream-world safe, no maidenhead unpierced
By fantasy and memory unbound.
These are the windows of the soul,
So oft betrayed by smiling lies.
A thousand Christmases, a date
That never was, warm soft eyes
With promises of eternal bliss
If one will only not
copyright 19 July 2000
by Earle B. 'Glas' Durboraw.