Glades of Sirkcumsale
I dreamt of pomegranates
fruit of the twilight gods
in the glades of Sirkcumsale
on the lap of a new love
they wore a veil that concealed
the death implied alongside birth
each a companion to the lust
delayed as promise bid its time.
First my brow, then my chin
the hand lingered, clad in red
promise pressed into the folds
as their trail moved below
the eyes topped cover’s screen
attention called from the caress
shifting hues from green to red
this seemed normal in dream’s realm.
Irrespective of their gender
the planted kisses plied the pleasure
returned in mass, this is my way
to turn attention to the lips
the embrace is what’s important
once submerged I’ll be the swimmer
comeliness is broached by touch
pulling close with hug and smooch.
I was raptured, I’ll admit
perhaps by an evil jinn
I’ll not attest if that was true
when desire was all I knew
the balance may not be told
it was diversion from the norm
crimson fruit was mine to have
in the glades of Sirkcumsale.
© 2017. Sean Green. All Rights Reserved. 20171007.