Draw on, divine seductress.
The orange light becomes a dark red veil,
And there enters the pale virgin and her cortege
In shining silver gowns,
And the lights are put out one by one,
Thoughts extinguished with maternal tenderness.
I hope to dream of you tonight.

Your glance, a pure sensation in the light—
I have not forgotten it.
Though I have seen it but once,
I do not think that time will ever erase its splendor.
I've never met you in conversation,
Nor am I likely to engage your attention in the future,
But perhaps this is for the best,
For that which I adore is too beautiful for truth.

Would it flatter you to know I've made you a goddess?
Your name is unknown to me so I've given you another,
And I've bestowed upon you such charms as all womankind would envy:
A wit and grace more supple than a violin,
A disposition both bold and intimate,
A mother's patient generosity,
And a wanton woman's savage desire
And when you speak, I hear new verse born in your eloquence.

We grow together, you and I,
As life lends new inspirations which shape our hopes, our passions,
And though I may not hope to love you in life,
I shall always love as you are to me now,
My phantom mistress,
And I pray that each night's fantasies may be perfumed with your sweetness.

George Chadderdon © 1994