Reality is the Irregularity of the Past.

Wednesday, December 8, 2010

Sometimes a red-garden grows

Sometimes the moment lies

And sometimes with lament' eyes;

Sometimes a wolf bears its teeth

And a fire’s like a romance be.

Sometimes these moments cast away

That time so catches life to say,

Sometimes love's rosebuds do not grow

For lovely rose seedlings grew too slow.

For love like growing roses rest,

In chlorine and sometimes zest,

These reddened shapes seduced and sexed

As morphine and most-times vexed!

Oh, my love by sweet garden’s light,

Thou but hold this stem e’en by fright,

That livened stamens rise to treat,

Thy inner pistil as thighs unmeet.

And dost thou gentle fires burn,

Alas! Fresh that sponge red-fluids churn,

‘gainst ravish, that thou may not begat,

Permit this throb betwixt our love’s contract.

Sometimes the moment truthful dies,

And sometimes with whitened lies,

Sometimes a leopard rears a beast,

And through the mud for one at least.

Sometimes a red-garden grows,

But youth passes too swiftly too denote

Thy beauty’s spring-shape into autumn,

For love grows sometimes in the bottom.