Grey footsteps crept through, tickled,
this penumbra of the soul, a hungry murmur
from the drops of rain that trickled
by the shiny side of this breath, this armor.

Knife, thine eyes, my lovely sweet
piercing through the atomic masquerade
of charms and lust, shaken in this music's beat
the smiles and laughter of our charade.

Must we dance in the tune of moonlight,
sonata in the scent of wild flowers, blooming
in these hands I sense the tense of the night,
a touch in the madness, fingers electrifying.

Masks undone, in the garden of sin we lay,
the silver light tasting the contours of thine body,
we smell the noise of our skin though it may
be the gasp of thunder in thine bosom's beauty.

Turning, we transcend this world anew,
those notes that wriggle in the erotic sound
of satisfying sensations, the power of gods withdrew
outside the temple of thine unforgiving ground.

Artchil Daug

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/moonlight-sonata-4/