Furtive Love
.
moon-darkened night,
fluttering fronds above,
quivering streaks of light,
of tapering shadows
on anxious thrill,
on nervous joy.
ah, freedom so elusive,
there, smooth, wet sand,
yonder, mossy driftwood,
here, hidden scene,
we can clearly see
without being seen.
stealthily, ebb tide kisses
our sandy, naked feet,
but why the stealth?
why be reluctant?
why be furtive before
the naked truth?
is this passion a fugitive?
a despicable outcast
so hideous that the glow
of its flame must hide,
languish and die out
here in the dark?
.
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