In Your Orchard

 

In your orchard I haven’t yet found sweetly

            The time it takes to fall amazed, and though

                        I wish to taste just that—that wonderful sinful

                                    Spring bud of you, all washing over me madly—

           It must be noted that I’ve dreamed only of your

                                    Glorious meander, your stretching woods that are

                        By the frame of your lens so shortened, by the sweet

Laughter of your voice that has comforted me. No, I want

To find that orchard with you. Take me there, miss.

 

Because what if we didn’t? Would the orchard

            Cease to be, or will another set of exempt romantics

                        Press their allusions against our foolishness and

                                    Trick our lovely wiles? I can’t think of anywhere

           Else I could possibly say I love you than in some

                                    Lovely lemony run of trees beneath a springtide

                        Moon who never ceases to tire of such things. So

            Row upon row, it is then: an infinite caress of

Senses, for two like us who have been so patient.

 

And I want you. I want you like the woods

            That border that meadow want the summer

                        Shadows to return, like the coolwater brook

                                    Wants the tumbled rock to give it sound, like the

           Bluebell wants the spring wind to touch its silvery

                                    Blueness, like the window wants your smile

                        And the night; well, the night wants tomorrow

            To never come, as do lovers by candlelight

Lose time, and not care. Yes, and I want you.

 

So, this orchard; a fair run of summertime

            Called your orchard—a place dreamed of by

                        A far-off man—in which I amuse myself,

                                    Because I haven’t mused that much before

           Finding you. I harbor little doubt though I am

                                    Fearful only of being a passerby; I can give

                        You the pleasures you may have felt, but this:

            Yes, this is something more. Orchard or not,

Meet me there full of beautiful moments.

Reviews

[Victrola Belle]

by calling the object d art "miss" we know she is your far off fantasy- her orchard, a universal bounty of female-ness, sexual love, acceptance, or genitalia.

The body of text waves down like a leaf falling too....but there is fear of rejection ..the speaker dreams of relationship without real life agenda..there is ritual too in masterbatorial fantasy and comfort.

''Glorious meander, your stretching woods that are
By the frame of your lens so shortened, by the sweet
Laughter of your voice that has comforted me.''

a nice almost metaphysical romp.....some good language..my fav being



"glorious meander"
&

"this orchard; a fair run of summertime
Called your orchard�a place dreamed of by
A far-off man�in which I amuse myself, "