If, my love
If I warbled alike a dove
and fluted - tunes of love
the wailing winds would carry
tiny hearts - red draped sherry
to kiss upon your lips in spree,
sparkling those blue globes - to see;
duetting, beam notes - are we.
If my pupils - diluted inky dye
calligraphy, would form and dry;
a cursive splendour of your name
in a rosy painted outer frame,
that then - all peering eyes
would whisper - that fluent guise
even seraphs, in abodes of skies.
If mystics - sewed quilt patches
attaching nets of woolly latches,
to catch each kissed recited rhyme;
embedded by lips of mine,
for you to lay on quilt and dream
as my poetic notions gleam
and waltz you in the scheme.
If I could hear my smallest cells
all would resound - like church bells
strung upon a genetic maze,
made to adore - your curvy graze,
chiming my emotive glee
echoing fourths to three
your own beat - from my inner me.