The Night Is Young

The night is young,

Quoth he to me,

All sounds around

Are calm.

Let me caress you


A gentle,

Soothing balm


Of scented oil

Stroked on

Your flesh,

Porcelain in hue.

Valleys of


And mountain peaks

We’ll view.       


A tender kiss

Won’t bid adieu,

With passion’s flame


Come quietly,

To me,

My love.

Youthful is the night.


OK, Oliana, this one’s down to you. ‘The night is young’, you said.


4 thoughts on “The Night Is Young”

  1. I love this poem, my dear and how sweet of you to give me some extra “fantasy” material…so I should reread this 15 mins before my shift ends to motivate me to get on down to Hurley’s for Celtic or Bistro à Jo-Jo for some Blues. I am so touched by this…truly am 🙂 xx


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