The night in shining armour
Rediscovers my moonlit memories.
How the mighty are humbled
When uncovered by the moonbeams.
Treasure of my beating heart
A taste of your honey lips,
The forgetting that happens
When we’re together.
The wasted hours
When we’re apart
And I long for wine and song again.
Safe, with you in my arms.
Sí, mi amor. Sí, mi amor.
© 2018 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.
Originally published 10 September 2016
Made of sticks and stones 
Great poem!
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Thank you, it was a pleasure to write so really pleased you liked it.
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Good for you, Frank. Most people seem to forget about the simple pleasure of writing. (Including myself, hem-hem.) 🙂
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Even on the days that I only manage to get no more than five words down on the page, I try to remember the pleasure in writing. Afterall, if I’m not pleasing myself, I’m probably not going to be pleasing anyone else.
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That’s an excellent point, Frank. 🙂
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Reblogged this on Made of sticks and stones and commented:
Day 26 of my review of the year and a poem about the moon and the lunacy of love, and getting cocky and trying to write poems in more than one language …
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