The morning brings, afresh, the scent of dew.

A breeze conveys sweet fragrances of you.

Scents linger to arouse repressed desire

That surges there, an undertow of fire.

An arcane love, obscured, from a torn heart,

Betrays secrets you never knew were sought.

They bridge the gap of unfulfilled demands

That fail to heal in skilled physician’s hands.

Doctors that mend all ills, which men think of,

Default to heal an unrequited love.

So, in night visions, Eros makes his rounds,

Offering a feast of pleasures and delights.

Which, though often forgotten in the day,

Fulfill sensual desires that rule the nights.