wine of the mystic

intoxicating
to bathe in your radiant presence

even the memory
or the thought of you
sets me spinning inside

and if anyone is watching,
i have to catch myself.

if not, i just reel in it
revel in it,
like the irresistible gravity of flight
one feels, although only diving. . .

now i know i am only diving,
but on the whole i do not care.
i am busy glorying in it.

the only thing that gives even a moment's pause
is wondering how i appear to others,
in these moments.

they surely think me mad,
foolish, a nuisance,
or a pity.

it is only for their sake i ever attempt to appear quiet or reserved.
on my own time i am singing your name,
even in my silence,
and enraptured. . .
in the heady swoon of love

it sure looks like being drunk,
heedless of everything beyond this moment.

the best i can do
by way of consideration
is to beg your indulgence. . .
because i am not going to change;
this feeling is not going to wane one bit.

though i pity you, who can never know such intoxication,
i am not going to waste one moment of it
trying to explain or justify.

it's a pity you will never taste the fruit of this infinite longing,
which is infinite satisfaction.
. . .
copyright Peter Asher Watts 2011