(In a graveyard).
Captivated, I can only stare as
you appear, a ghost to me.
Tell me how I should love you?
Without a touch, the feintest scent,
nor hidden smile on chiselled cheeks.
Ageless, set in such nubile torpidity,
your sombre marbled eyes
propose the question that stony lips
are doomed ne’er to form.
Demure sentinel, beautiful guardian
waiting for me.
© Graham Sherwood 12/2011
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