Anatomy By Braille
Poem By Benjamin Mitchell
Like a coal, her hair's afire
Not bright, but burning all the same;
And so inside me burns desire:
A low, smouldering, crimson flame.
Her eyes meet mine as they are fleeing:
Touch and go, just fleeting looks,
Yet fleeting sets my heart a'beating
I bait my lines and lower my hooks
and wait with bated breath. I dream
Of warming hands in those embers red.
Though I know her not- still it seems
My eyes, in hers, are quite well fed.
My mind wanders with romance wrought:
Fantasies far too good to believe
Of all the wonderful, romantic thoughts
And other things we might conceive.
Her cheeks seem soft, like newfallen snow.
Souls would ache if, upon them, eyes rained,
But hearts would bound like newborn roe
If, by some wit, they crimson stained.
And better yet would I rejoice
In passions fierce and contentment bliss
If, from her lips, my name she voiced,
And, on her lips, I left a kiss.