Perilous Darts Poem by Paul Brookes

Shall I compare thee to a thorn in the side,
a red rose, rosier than rosy dawn.
cold hearted an icy draught you are.

a flex of muscle, a sprig of hair, an eye bluer than the cerulean skies
there see the wounds you inflict without trying
or do you try and misfire with your deadly weapon.

oh yes little imp you fling and cast and throw and dart
spearing hearts willing or no prisoners all;
enthralled, embracing you in torpid night
like blind lovers feeling their way
lost in romantic haze, in ecstasy before the fall,
apples eaten to the core, evidence of the birth of sin.

the cliff edge is never far away
we dance skirting the abyss edge,
walking the tightrope to fall or not
or to be consumed in passions fire,
scorching us in dragons breath
leaving the smell of brimstone and loss.