The flush of early-evening heat recalls
A fevered dream... Across the lawn, the bands
Of shadows deepen. Only where we stand,
Hid by the cool and mossy garden wall,
Do the last dusty rays of sunlight fall.
I press your fingers in my trembling hand,
Dazed and exalted by your closeness, and
Kiss you in anguished ecstasy. For all
Your charming wickedness and insolence,
There lingers pathos in the urgency
Of quickened pulse and heightened, swooning sense.
Only the young, as restless as the sea,
Are privileged to passions so intense,
That flare, consume—and die as brilliantly.
February 21, 1989