The Lyre and The Lyrist

I take off your clothes where the moonlight flows
And re-dress you in hands full of fire;
Through my fingers I see how your soft skin glows
As I fondle my moon-lit lyre.

“Ah” is the note of you; “Ah”, and then “Oh”;
You’re a-tremble like some giant string!
And our mouths are made full of ourselves beautiful
As soft greed is the song we sing!

Then my hands through your hair, and my body through yours,
As the moon is shut off by a cloud,
And in darkness we move to the muse that endures
While the waves crash about us so proud.

On this shore by the sea we are totally free,
As we lay in the on-again moon,
And the lyre and the lyrist—is it you, is it me?—
Hum softly an unknown tune.

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