The rising moon,
aglow as if on fire
in red and gold attire,
against the dark blue horizon,
calls for the nostalgic touch
of your burning lips,
on my softest skin.
A lone Stradivari
of bow and solo treble pitch,
sways on the moonbeams,
pulling my mixed-emotion
heart strings
while we breathe in the scent of violets,
with a musty perfume of moss and earth.
oh, I shiver, as I behold
the beauty of your eyes
in flaming fire
of deepest desire.
Oh moonshine bright,
look down on our plight,
yearning for delicious
fulfilment,
with dancing fireflies
on a bouquet
of sweet-smelling violets.
