I, at first,
only saw his eyes
as if they were
the nautical blue sky of Montauk
on a newborn summer dawn.
Yet, ghostly waves of night tides,
and heaven's constellation thrones,
could not compare to such sparkled spheres,
enchantment, a gift to my being.
His sun-streaked hair had traces of sand,
and our starlight embraces, as we walked
the gray-purple twilight dunes,
dance into my dreams,
how could those orbs of mystery,
of promise, of poetic charms,
and deep depths of our unions,
depart from me,
from my cherishing.
Summer's freedoms of slivered moon's
could not, no, could not end,
how could his eyes leave with the morning stars,
and in September's cool sympathy-
leave this adoring lover,
now crowned in golden age on a faraway shore.
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