Tropical Night
Was it me or the rivers dreaming?
Eyes that brimming with shadowy longings
Of crimpson lips and lascivious tongues
Anticipated kisses and yearning bodies
Submerged under the silvery net of crystalized stars
The burning skin and dying caresses of aching morrows
Floating apart like dissipating clouds withour faces...
Witnessing the exposed touches wet of tropical night sweat
Into the unwavering licks of a blissful fire.
The jungle leaves thick with desiring flowers
Rich latex dripping drops of hot liquid
The curves, the noctunal voluptousness
Cupping filled spaces in thirsty fingers
Sucking in the gasps and still sensible repressed moans...
Darkness conspires the whispering merging laborous craving:
Was it me or the midnight rivers listening?
Was it me or the midnight waves glistening?
(December 30th, 2000)
WILLIAM THOMPSON (1712-1766)
THE HAPPY LIFE
A book, a friend, a song, a glass,
A chaste, yet laughter-loving lass,
To mortals various joys impart,
Inform the sense, and warm the heart.
Thrice happy they, who careless laid
Beneath a kind-embowering shade,
With rosy wreaths their temples crown,
In rosy wine their sorrow drown.
Begone, ambition, riches, toys,
And splendid cares, and guilty joys--
Give me a book, a friend, a glass,
And a chaste, laughter-loving lass.
