Talk to me of love

Talk to me of love with wonder in your eyes,
of limber magic flying through the veiling air
and soft-edged silks trailing in a vintage plume,
the bloom of fragrant lavender intimate in your hair
– and I will recline there in the sweetest ease.
Talk to me of love in honeyed tones, in whispered words,
the words I heard in mother’s arms she breathed
into my inner ear, and I will slide into replete oblivion.
Talk to me of love in strident voice, engender passion
in your choice of words and I will hear the loyal
chant of patriots who bought our nationhood as clear
as tears of pride will sting besotted eyes.
Talk to me of love concerns and helplessness,
of gentle touch to reassure with warm caress
and I will melt in thankfulness, I will be blessed
with strength outsize my meagre frame.
Talk to me of love beyond today’s enlightenment,
proclaim it ne’er forgot so this content could not mean
more; what saddened deed could break the bond
cementing happiness to future needs; promise that
and I will cede my feeble discontent.
Talk to me of love in infant arms and gentleness,
of softened skin unblemished, of tiny sounds and
newborn smells that ring like bells inside your head,
talk of love’s contentedness, the murmurs fed
at pillowed breast, the aching cries of wry distress,
and I will drown in yawning frowns
that stole my keys to solitude.
Talk to me of love in sombre mood, of anguish at a parting,
of loneliness in death and crying for the loving dead,
the leaden pain expressed in shaken voice, the shaking hand
that seeks my hand, the faded look to reassess,
the gentle squeeze that seizes on this subtle test
that love remains, and I will surely rest in peace.
Talk to me of love in all its gentle guises, talk to me of love
that billows flame, talk to me of love with no horison,
a love that simply is, that needs no other name...
© I.D. Carswell