He drips himself with water, his shoulders  
squaring in front of a window full of light, 
one would think 
he is preparing for battle, 
given his stance, but oh,  
only the sun knows of heat that emanates,  
smooth-skinned,  
with a jawline sharp enough to slice the wind, 
pray tell me, then 
how you expect me to dodge? 

His eyes slay me without apology, 
their beauty I cannot sustain,  
lips, slightly parted, gage, breathing in chaos  
I wonder,  
which era of night discerns fire that erupts, 
you see, I am consumed, 
neither grass nor sand subdue, 
and now,  
eros whispers until the full moon rises overnight. 

In all honesty, I confess that dark mane 
holds me captive 
and ushers reason out the door,  
I am a Poet, but words upon his gaze  
fall short— his eyes slay me  
without apology, 
without a trace of remorse,  
perfectly hued to match intensity. 
Every reader’s exegesis will be different, 
but if you add a line or three, 
you will consider your time here well spent. 

 

 

 

 

Photo credits: Pinterest

Loosely inspired by “Rondel of Merciless Beauty,” by Geoffrey Chaucer for the 
onset of October 🍂

Posted for Open Link Night #370 @dVerse Poets Pub