I burn, I tremble when I look on you,
Bewitching Persian maid, sweet, dusky flower!
Your walnut eyes, so full of soul, imbue
Your face with guileless innocence. The power
That lies within your smile disturbs my peace,
And sets me dreaming of those ample lips
Pressed to my own. My passions, roused, increase
When I undress you in my mind. Such hips!
Such breasts! Such shapely, tender, supple limbs!
You're beautiful, a tribute to your race,
A desert goddess, Muse of lovers' hymns,
And they would veil the shining of your grace!
Oh, joy that they have failed so miserably
In hiding all of Allah's charms from me!

George Chadderdon © 1997