NudeTea
06-03-2008, 07:05 AM
Touch the Moon / A Pernoctation
© Stephen J. Martin 2008
Awakened my soul in the dark of the night.
Up from my mattress, weightless my flight.
Lifting me, silvery arms of embrace.
My fingers; discovering moonbeams to trace.
My spirit enlivened; stretched up unencumbered.
The moonlight, a stairway up from my slumber.
White linen curtains, parted by breeze.
Fluttered and opened, I entered with ease.
Up to the balcony of silver-lined clouds.
I stand, held in place by Sentinels, proud.
Guide me, my Sylphs; the Watchers o’er all.
Lower my gaze to her, in her walls.
Moonlight that touched me, extending one arm;
I beg you to reach out, my soul is alarmed.
Does she remember? Does she recall?
Does she dream of me? Ever? At all?
Soft is her hair on the pillow beneath.
Strong is her countenance, of whom I speak.
Silken, her skin on the mattress so blessed;
That snuggles her feminine form as she rests.
Reach out! I beg you! Waken her now!
Find where she sleeps, shine your light through the boughs.
Wide is the elm, so slip past the veeh.
Open her curtains the way you did me.
Touch her face softly, I charge you, my Friend.
Let the dark of her refuge never offend.
If you would but cradle her beautiful face
The arms of your moonlight would grant us embrace.
© Stephen J. Martin
My Forty Four Summer Stories collection is published by WildChildPublishing.com (https://www.wildchildpublishing.com/content/view/455/218/)
© Stephen J. Martin 2008
Awakened my soul in the dark of the night.
Up from my mattress, weightless my flight.
Lifting me, silvery arms of embrace.
My fingers; discovering moonbeams to trace.
My spirit enlivened; stretched up unencumbered.
The moonlight, a stairway up from my slumber.
White linen curtains, parted by breeze.
Fluttered and opened, I entered with ease.
Up to the balcony of silver-lined clouds.
I stand, held in place by Sentinels, proud.
Guide me, my Sylphs; the Watchers o’er all.
Lower my gaze to her, in her walls.
Moonlight that touched me, extending one arm;
I beg you to reach out, my soul is alarmed.
Does she remember? Does she recall?
Does she dream of me? Ever? At all?
Soft is her hair on the pillow beneath.
Strong is her countenance, of whom I speak.
Silken, her skin on the mattress so blessed;
That snuggles her feminine form as she rests.
Reach out! I beg you! Waken her now!
Find where she sleeps, shine your light through the boughs.
Wide is the elm, so slip past the veeh.
Open her curtains the way you did me.
Touch her face softly, I charge you, my Friend.
Let the dark of her refuge never offend.
If you would but cradle her beautiful face
The arms of your moonlight would grant us embrace.
© Stephen J. Martin
My Forty Four Summer Stories collection is published by WildChildPublishing.com (https://www.wildchildpublishing.com/content/view/455/218/)