Crushed
Christopher Moya
For Anna
Adoration in the small of meeting
Is delicious time-
That place of enchantment
When she enters the room
And like a fancy, gazes girlishly about,
A grand gala in her eyes,
Whole celebrations living in the loveliness there.
Here serene moves round the edges of my senses,
And with a look, send them spiraling
In the sweet fantasia of smittenhood.
I like the line of her, the smooth slope of her neck,
The ebb and flow of her walk.
And ah her sweet smell affecting wild wonders—
A grand pandemonium in my head.
In the wild sound, I see her.
I'm surrounded by the music
Where soon she might come by
And expound preciously lengthy details,
Each word tinged with colors of earnest.
We open our mouths, and what comes out
Is the happiest malarkey in Creation.
In that tiny hurricane, where we want to say, but can't,
Where all our silent suspicions reign momentarily
And then are gone,
We believe for the first time ever,
As if all the notice we took before
Were a wee once dream
That left an amorous awakening.
How can I say where ends my joy of her
When she brightens everything,
When oh she washes over me
And what I wouldn't do to hold her
And see affection in her eyes?
How blissfully uncertain she is, with smirks aplenty.
They are plenty, her smirks, even when they are not.
Even now, in the depth of her industry,
Ever on the brink of joy,
Yes, even now, indeed, you could say,
She is with smirk.
She makes a great racket in my brain,
Threshing my thoughts into oatmeal,
Clamoring true the one musical noise-
Sweet bedlam, the dulcet commotion.
She is sun, moon, stars, and Heaven.
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