I look into your eyes and see
an olive grove in dusk.
A small child wishing to be free,
clothed in a woman’s musk.

I gaze upon your flaxen locks
and dream of wild brown wheat.
A land alive with soaring hawks,
cool touch on barest feet.

I long to kiss your gentle lips,
taste of nectar so sweet.
A secret well from which one dips
to refresh from defeat.

If I could hold your hand with mine
I’d gladly give my day.
To hear you say the world was fine
and that you wished to stay.

But my world will take me soon
out of your arms and away.
And I can’t ask the sun or moon,
“What can I do to stay?”

I think of how our paths have crossed,
the bard I now recall;
“Tis better to have loved and lost,
than never loved at all.”