The Details of Love
It is an agitated rose writhing
In her blood that shadows her cheeks,
And her heart's peregrinations proving
'tis all elusive yet still she seeks
Ardent lips to be that gale of passion from Olympus,
And like the old Greeks,
She pines for a love not shy,
And far from meek.
Love's dew settles upon her unkissed brow
Marking shadows on her unloved youth but even now,
The mists of dream glaze her avid eyes,
Her virgin tongue speaking not of wherefores and wise
She is to lose her self in the town
Of forgotten faces finally found
With all the joy of summer sunrise.
Not unlike the wilderness of melancholy-
A forlorn tolling of bells, tolling of bells-
Does she smile seductively, soothingly.
A ghost* unmasked as the sign of Hell's
Pilgrimage to her soul, which loved ardently.
It is a sin, O! to love's a sin!
For it steals one's morals, like any other sin.
And she has seen: to love his lover,
Love uncovered the Machiavel in him.
*Definition of 'ghost': The outward and visible sign of an inward fear. (Ambrose Bierce- The Demon's Dictionary)