Of Pomegranates

If only angels looked upon our love,
But how they’d smile, giggling at us,
At this, though common, sighing from above;

Beauty’s contained and found in all things just,
Delighting in the pomegranate’s seed,
For you alone the meaning’s not of lust,

For you, a mistress to your passion’s need,
Admitting vulnerability,
Have taken comfort following in my lead.

Through moments of joy and uncertainty,
Euphoria and pain become our worlds,
And we revel or cry in commonality;

At night, unfettered, lie we both unfurled
In nylon, silk, and satin ecstasy,
As the master-mistress in our thoughts we’re curled;

If only all life was such fantasy,
We’d still be standing high above the cove,
Instead, with trust our guide, we plunge towards destiny.