I stand to praise, and find I cannot speak!

I see your steady gaze – how warm the shiver!

I am astir, and all my strength is weak;

my motion sits and stuns me. I consider

such dastardly and kind delights devised;

how resting in your arms can tire me

and hold me there. Why, then, am I surprised

when wild love like yours is irony –

lets loners huddle up in herds,

makes modest guests go back for seconds, thirds,

and leaves a preening poet lost for words?


-Alistair "Hale" Sauterne