SWEET DAWN OF LOVE




As the Thorn Protects the Rose, My Pen Preservers Our Love

 

SWEET DAWN OF LOVE

How sweet--my Dearest Rose Petal--how sweet the Dawn of Love.

Love's Dawn rises the Celestial Moment my eyes touch yours.

Or I capture the scent of your perfume seducing the crisp ‘morn air.

Or silken shafts of golden sunlight careen off your cheeks and neck.

The Sweet Dawn of Love bears the succulent Fruit of Life, my Love.

It is the bouquet of fine wine awakening my parched palate.
.

I shudder at its might when lightening thunders through the heavens,

I surrender to its comfort as leaves when they curl  asleep at dusk.

Love awakens in its many Dawns, my Dearest.

It stirs to Life when our thoughts spear the heart of Love's memory.

Such as the first time our secret souls seduced the other,

Or in orgasmic reflecting pools where we vowed eternal bond to Dawn’s Love.

That bond was our pledge to forever offer our First Thought to Love,

So when we awake from somnolent journey, we eternally witness Love’s Birth.

What greater glory is there, my Loving One, than to awake to the Thought of Love?

There is no other, dare I say, than to supplicate to Love's  Magic.

How easy for those denied the Dawn of Love to rise anonymously,

Unaware the Face of Love is turned backwards in their hearts.

What if each of us, My Dearest, was to awaken with the Face of Love

Adoring every flaw-filled fragment of our other's total being?

Would not the world echo with song instead of a cacophonous clash of swords?

Would not the children’s laughs replace woeful, lonely cries?

To Love or not be Loved, is what one great poet did pose.

Is not the enigma’s answer to turn around the Face of Love within our sensual soul?

That Love exists hidden in our hearts, often scared and scarred,

Is no secret to humanity's quest to search for its source, its seed.

But if we all admitted Love’s Face was but a single memory,

An iconic image of that virginal moment when we instantly knew Love’s purity,

Understood its innocence, its titillation, its boundless celestial energy...
Love would Dawn.

And even if that Love Memory was but a flash, it flashed eternal.

Is there a gluttonous need to duplicate the Dawn of Love?

Do we not fool ourselves into great suffering by seeking more than our share?

If we have once felt the Dawn of Love's power or reveled in its hypnotic bliss,

Can such a feeling, such ignition, such magnetism be ever equally duplicated?

This Dawn of Love, my Dearest, is as precious as a newborn to its mother.

As fragile as the wings of a freshly hatched butterfly.

I cleave Love's Dawn to my mind’s eye so that when the sand of night shifts

And my eyes clutch for the Kiss of Dawn, I might birth your Love once more.

I prey I might see your Face of Love appear in fluttering shapes of silk,

Or savor the twinkling impishness of your eyes flirting against the puffy summer clouds' underbellies,

Or reach my fingertips to yours as you twirl in the glen hoping to touch you so very lightly,

And know, forever in my heart, the Dawn of Love awaits us all, everywhere.

Forever Yours in the Dawn of Love,

Cyrano!

Anderson-McKenzie



As the Thorn Protects the Rose, My Pen Preservers Our Love

© 2012, Cyrano! Anderson-McKenzie, C.A. McKenzie. All Cyrano! writings are original and created daily by the author. Anyone wishing to contribute funds to the maintenance and support of the Cyrano! blog should send their contributions to C.A. McKenzie, 53 East 7th St. #9, NY, NY 10003