Dance at Bougival: A Saturday Poem

Dance at Bougival

Please, steer me clear of Juliet if you must speak so –
[and he does] -- she leans away, but her ears are like
pincers, and nothing escapes them, my darling.

Why must we care, why? Oh love, I would declare unto
the entire drunken fleet, “I have fallen, thrice-stricken
by Eros, Venus, and Aphrodite.”

Please, your right hand above my sash if you will –
[and he does] – that’s better, we must for the sake of
appearances if nothing else, maintain some decorum.

Why must we do so? Love, I would trace with my tongue
the red trim of your bodice against this very poplar in the
presence of these witnesses that worry you so.

Please, that may well be, but if you do so love me –
[and he does] -- you will lead me from here, even now,
that thine impropriety may be properly, received.

© Ciprianowords Inc. 2009
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