Sappho In Bloom

Someone has cut the flowers, trimmed the stems,
slashed the bushes upon which they grew
and still though I try- I cannot seem to forget you
the bright creature so nymph-like and tall.

My very own Sappho has bloomed
before me stuck in betwixt and between
youth and age with your long black hair
and liquid pools of the darkest ermine as eyes.

Summer is coming and the ripe autumn leaves
and fruits are bursting with indecent passion,
We used to roll around the fallen flowers
and then a kiss from me to you.

Neruda is romantic, but he forgot to describe
 the unknowing
beauty of those he cannot possible ascribe to,
cannot see, hold or touch.

My darling, he hath nothing to compare you to,
Not star not moon not sun nor sky
you surpass all in your Beauty
it is like singing to a bard your conquests

How pointless, how pitiful
no words can describe my Sappho in bloom
like verdant green in an abundance of brown
You alone are there.

When you smile it as if there has been a
dreamy breeze passing through my heart
and I cannot understand the possibility of life
without you near me

I could not sing, could not sleep
could not eat could not talk
only dream aways of you
my heart would pine and cry out your name!

Too late I want to touch you before you leave
My little large big small Sappho in bloom.