Poetry Winner

The Touch

Touch not that which, owned, shall strike
the beauty from thy lips
unfolded, undazed, unknowing of pain
Yet touch you this I must

The wrack of shudders that envelop the Lovers,
whose souls must surely not know,
makes light of the darkness, encumbering, the solstice
the wane of the palest moonlight

Know not ye, the sorrow to come
the fleeting, quick glimpses of pain,
The parting, in sorrow, the flinch of the aura
as, togetherness ends this sweet way.

Meander not soul, for another's sweet touch
whose taste is not but a moment
A moment in passing, a ripple in time
minute in it's very unfolding

Of thee this I know, my heart knows, now, too
The squalor of Night's misty musk
To hold and to honor, to milk and succor
to live in my heart as no other

Know not ye, of passions to come
of the dance, to which we shall mingle
Knowing is joy, of these times yet to hither
and thine own joy yet to be heightened

Yes, and to hold, but no, not so tight
as to restrict Life's very existence
And feeling the light, sweet touches abound
the glow of our sweetest of passions

The shudders, they quicken, as the beat takes new life
The Lovers do moan sweet in time
The kick of the leg, as joy is in sight
together they grip tight the other,
the knotting, the clenching, of flesh honed as one
Together the beat strikes anew
The cries, the crescendo, to build up to peak
For this world, now, consists of just two

The after-glow, sweet, a oneness, shared
know not ye, of the passion of me,
A soul of sweet tender, light-hearted matter
whose soul shirks not at it's due

Richard L. Clayton