If Caution Were Blown

If caution were blown,
To the four corners,
I may propose you,
Next, a mistral for wings.
And if were so,
On which far shore,
Would you land,
If land at all?


On Persian shores,
Silk caressed, bejewelled,
A sheikh’s exotic mistress?


In Siberian winter,
Enwrapped in furs of mink,
A Russian princess?


In Amazonian rainforest,
Nubile, barely clad,
A people’s shaman?


On Arctic ice,
Seal skinned over naked flesh,
An Eskimo’s spouse?


In darkest Chad, Sudan, the Congo,
Befeathered, painted,
A tribal queen?


A thousand lives,
For us to live,
Though caution kept,
May run against my grain,
I strive to keep it,
So that, here,
For all that you be,
To me,
My mistress,
My princess,
My shaman,
My spouse,
My queen,
May be.

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