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Passion and a Poesy

What is a poem but a loose string of words
hastily configured and rearranged for our pleasure,
a steamy, intense, passionate
crossing of Knight and Dame in the waking hours
of the day, when the gallant and the brave
march and joust for the fleurs of fair maidens?

Watering the dimly-lit seeds with the midnight oil,
conceiving to sow the mighty sycamores
in the grove of wistful fantasies,
desires are turned on,
fired away
like a forest of embers
ascending higher than hearsay,
above the flirtations of moonglow and December snow,
above the firmaments of the divine revealing
of its salient qualities,
the unconcealing of the beauty standing
in the Creator’s perfect love,
our deep breaths the evidence
of interlaced lovers swooning
in their natural union under the Midnight Sun
on an evening as precious and enchanted as this.

Is there not ethereal bliss enough,
in our world when the lights are on
to experience the dimensions beyond our senses
that flirt with us in the shadows,
playing with our defenses
until our inner strongholds
collapse, and yield the fruits
of the eternally faithful in our lifetime?

The interdependence of attraction as poetry
and romance as art
is the marriage
of the beautiful and the practical
that endures frostbite and heatwave,
sandstorm, hail, and rain,
a sweeter gift than all the milk and honey
I have consecrated before God
as tribute to Him
for letting me see you again!

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