The rising moon - Tisha Smit

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.