PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

"Te, te, care puer! veteris si nomen amoris

Iam valeat, socium semper amare voco."

---Lord Byron, "Te, Te, Care Puer!"

You spent part of your summer break with George

(Gordon, Lord Byron, Poet) your lover

and boyfriend, and he took you, traveling

through England, to that monument, Stonehenge

(Celtic, Druid, or Roman---who could know,

because most really did not care to know:

to them it was a pile of upright rocks,

and some scattered about).  When you arrived

with him, with George who calls you beautiful,

you---shyly but coyly---shook your long locks

so that they cascaded over your shirt.

which you had surreptitiously unbuttoned and

untucked from the waist band of your pinstriped

gray trousers.  Underneath their baggy cuffs,

the shoes that you despised slipped from the socks

(tan, almost---but not quite---sheer) that clung to

the contours of your slender agile feet.

Without regard to haters' prudery,

or what old prudes thought as propriety,

you frolicked on the grass of that wide lawn,

among the stones---around and in between---

as sunlight (since the solstice, quite direct)

caressed your torso as the panels of

your shirt drew back from time to time.  Those two

circlets of sensuality welcomed

the solar disc's caress as, before dawn,

they had welcomed the Poet's slow, wet kiss

(extended until you writhed in real bliss)

a moment that he brought to its completeness

when his fingers---eagerly and gently---

brought you to surging release of your sweetness

(iridescent, confected in the core

of your flesh) to become a metaphor

(perhaps naughty, but very moving) of

the scope and course of homogenic Love.

Starward

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