Baskadia

There is this desire, I fear,

It hunts me like a ghost.

A nameless feeling, I dread,

It pursues me, boat and coast.

If I flee through the ocean,

I fear I may be consumed.

But the land is potioned,

And even the bottle plant is exhumed.

I am bereft of triumph,

None would grant me asylum,

Yet, you bid me shalom.

How can there be peace,

when sadness, in my bosom, it feasts?

You are the desire; your love,

That hunts me like a ghost.

The harmless hemlock I've drunk,

The spikeless spikenard and rose.

You are my obsession,

Do you know?

Hear my confession,

Oh, no!

Your lips and mine, I wish they cross path,

That we may elope forever, me and you,

In the secret of our heart,

In the silence of the moon,

Where the shadow of your breast, as we walk,

Reveres the smoothness of the wall.