The Kingdom

I wrote this poem ten years ago.  Its tone reminds me of the Song of Songs, from the Old Testament,

King Solomon's ode to erotic love.  I put it into my novel, "The Gods of The Gift" as part of an exchange of

poems that occurs among my characters as they cross a vast desert

Am I ready to love?

How much more of the perfume of my soul

must I exude, before she tastes its waft upon the air

and is drawn to me?

 How can I be patient,

when to feel the heat of her body

close to mine

 is as miraculous as the sunrise?

When will I feel her hair in my hand?

 When will I touch her cheek with my lips?

 It is not the great rush of consummation

 that calls me, but the simplest gestures.

 I will smell her breath, and my blood will triumph.

 I will brush her hair, and feel the softness of her life

 in my hands.

 I will know the curve of her throat,

the music of her voice.

Her hand will be a warm spring

always rising from the depths

heated by love.                      

Her touch will put me on a silken throne.

 I will awake each morning eagerly

with the salt of her in my mouth.

My days will be a song of gratitude

that she has come,

my nights a roving through untold treasures.

Her love will restore to my lover's heart

the magic kingdom of childhood.