I see Wrapped around you in softness, The robe meant to depart From a feeble waist For the greatest taste Of one man, as me Needing to see A woman with a majesty's form, Written over in the sand. One long line for a verse Spells each delicate curve to be conversed. Life sits still upon the plain to be wandered, When I hold her in arms, that do not wither, Not against the wind in a hurricane, Nor against the bitter cold In an afternoon of snow. I find her staying To be that of the moon Wanting not to change faces Before the night is done. I cannot lose What I have called my muse For the delicacy of artistic design Drunken upon the warmness of wine. I feel What should not be healed. Her form a burn against my skin, Flowing evenly between the clashing currents.