We shall meet in cool and torchlit courtyards
within silent precincts of the night's embrace
and bathe there in gentle fountains where clear
sparkling waters cleanse past life's tainted trace.
A couch waits, draped with fine silks and linens,
dates and almonds rest upon a silver tray.
Before us a feast of new beginnings,
each choice placed like a jewel in the display.

Scents of jasmine and musk intoxicate us,
the stars anoint the bed where we will lie.
Your eyes are like the gates of seven heavens,
four basilisks stand ready to defy
mortality - and all time's hungry hunters
who would pursue us to this den of peace,
bring their pious rules here to confront us
and spoil the pleasure we have in our feast.

Your body like a slice of moonlight
falls softly on this torn and battered frame,
opens to me and lets our two selves unite
to best the gods at fate, their chosen game.
The gentle night will hide and protect you
but when cruel dawn calls, bidding you depart
I will beg Cronos halt the sun and let you
forever be the houri of my heart.

NOTE: The Houri of Arabic and Indian mythology are the Maids of Paradise, virgins who will be wives to the faithful dead in the afterlife. Although they are usually packaged in sets of four my chosen one is quite a lively girl - she tells me - and I am not as energetic as I used to be.