She held my hand as we climbed
The magnificent staircase of the art museum,
it was a summer holiday and we were slightly tipsy
From afternoon wine in the flower garden.
She touched my lips and spoke,
'Nothing more for you to drink,
I don't want the curator to dismiss you as a drunk
Who would fail to appreciate this sacred place
With landscapes of Delacroix and Renoir'
I was only inebriated enough to be happy in the moment
Of our footsteps intimately keeping pace with each other;
I felt indebted to the Greek gods Dionysus and Pan
That I was alive and wrapped in her perfume.
She would point to paintings or ancient pots
But I would smile and say, 'I only want to gaze
Quietly into the mystery of your eyes.'
But I could tell she was becoming irritated
that I wasn't taking in the scenery of my surroundings
More completely, so I became more submissive
and less outwardly in love.
Uriah Hamilton
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/more-submissive/
