Tumults Undefined

If seas could define
Serene quietness
If fogs could define
Her gaze…
If earthquakes
Calamities
Put together
Claim her gait
The tumult
Of my passion
Would find
A mate.

Was it lavender,
Or the fragrance
Or the morning dew,
Was it
The smell of wet evening
Her hair emitted
While she twirled
To the rhythm
Of the pagan song?

This is not eulogizing
This is madness
Not like dragging heavy
Chain across marble floors
But like playing a harp
With the sinews of my heart.

Alas, she is so close
Closer still
Even perhaps breathing
On me...
Still,
I don't dare,
To touch her,
With fear,
Of breaking her
With my iron hands,
It is not the need,
But the urge to
Know,
Is she an apparition
That my devilish mind
Reflects
Is she a being
All by herself
Ethereal
And soulful
Her petal lips
Never end the mystery...