Submissions by rswhitelock

She possesses this night,
though she will not tarry
as the fantasy succumbs to truth.

Is this not that of which the tragic poets
spoke when they described my love?
Is she not described in that longing?

This creature is too delicate for me,
a lily over a rose with petals of
soft optimism and gentle dedication.

A mind more capricious than fixed;
a body more oracle than muse;
the siren cry of a spirit capitulates my will.

Her name changes like shades of
sophistication as my memory follows
to the details of something...