The beautiful and the cherished

Sing and dance together and be joyous,
but let each one of you be alone,
Even as the strings of the lute are alone
though they quiver with the same music.
Kahlil Gibran, The Prophet

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The beautiful and the cherished

What is beautiful;
and what is not.

What is cherished;
and what is not.

She sleeps.

It is dawn of night,
when soft rains
cleanse the earth,
the trees,
and the soul.

Breathe, my dear maiden
breathe.

There is no difference
between the beautiful
and the cherished
when grandeur of night
is celebrated
among terms
of sexuality,
sensuality,
and endearment.

Her breast becomes my life.
Succulence.

Her body becomes my passion
Serendipity.

Thunder echoes,
once more,
through the forest,
as I breathe in the night air.
It is midnight.

She sleeps
among the night songs
to which I seek
her sensuality.
She is my soul.
My existence.
My song.
My being.

And her body lies
in sweet state
of my endless
desire.

A poet expresses this within written word.
A musician expresses this within music.
And a dreamer expresses this within thought.

And, in my soul
I am a poet,
a musician,
and a dreamer.

But, the night only offers silence,
soothing rains,
And a solemnity of her existence.

Kiss me, my dear,
the moon offers no consolation,
and the night
offers no repentance,
if the lovers dance no more
in the midst of the thunder
and rain.

Listen…

there is a soliloquy
playing among the
saints,
gods,
and the blessed.

See us no more,
lest we laugh in the face
of the moon,
stars,
and sun.

She is my silence.

My silence.

Our souls dance in the midst
of night winds.

Yes,
the night winds,
my dear,
the night winds,
they call us…

silence -- EjG

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our voices echo in silence
our souls dance in unison
and our heads are filled with the madness
of infinity
may we dance to infinity. Solomon

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My wife is both beautiful and cherished. EjG

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Dudley Dee