Disenchanted Evening

The pulse of me that began to race

Was a libertine thrill of somatic delight,

When first I saw your radiant face.

Shallow, my breath, in unsteady pace,

Shuttered to preserve, as your laugh lanced the night,

The pulse of me that began to race.

Your hair shone delicate as leavers lace,

Your eyes glistened darkly in study of light,

When first I saw your radiant face.

Across the room I orbited space,

Adrift in severance of what first gripped me tight:

The pulse of me that began to race.

Unseeing, your eyes, but for his grace;

Unknowing, your heart, to the pain of my plight,

When first I saw your radiant face.

My passion left but a lingering trace,

Morbidly quick amid first flight,

The pulse of me that began to race,

When first I saw your radiant face.