Everything is Permissable

Would that I might write a poem
to bring you back to me
but then, you never left,
an angel of the sea.

That I could unspin time's constructions
and undo all my crimes
against the purity of our love
in our most innocent of times.

How ardent and how sure our ardor then !

Have we not borne the truth
of what was born of only us?
Bourne by the air and by
the holy water blessed ?

A love that to perfection could pretend !

If words can charm read on,
and I will woo you to desire
what I desire; that our fingers mingle
in each other's hair anon

as breezes touch the trees