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| Image courtesy of Keattikorn at FreeDigitalPhotos.net |
Camp Ibalon Stockade
17 July 1981
In a little pot, a lovely pink rose blooms
(A strange sight inside a detention cell
---My own--- among these varied prison rooms.)
Its silent beauty tells me---all is well.
It was a rosebud when you came and brought it.
(I hardly noticed; I had you! Then dreamt of you!)
Awaking alone, so eagerly I sought it
And kissing its scented petals, I kissed you anew!
And sensed the light in your eyes, your face; your lips
Far rosier than the love-blush you wore.
Your softness, the trimness of your breasts, your hips
Despite the fourteen fruits of our love you bore!
How I love you only! You alone I desire!
How I want you, my darling, with my all afire!
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