A Pleasurable Paradise Poem by Mark Heathcote

O, I could cry to travel to Tír na nÓg
or a mythical island like Avalon
but I've only got to see you smile
and I'm rooted ankle-deep in a peat bog
dreaming of a prophecy. O-whereupon
any minute, I might be love-beguiled.

O drowning, I might wake in Mag Mell
a pleasurable paradise, I'm sure.
When you're with me in a flowery gown.
Wherever I go, no one can foretell
how long I've been gone on this detour
but in the morning, I've got no nightgown.

O and my eiderdowns moist with tears
the dewdrops that make their rounds
they've all fallen and formed into a brook
that weaves like the fall leaves somewhere
O, I'm swimming in a mere spellbound
under a wan moon with all my ugliness-dilute.

O my cheeks, the nape of my neck is aglow
I feel like I'm entering someplace new
we may only be residents, but I'm at home
looking at you only beneath the mistletoe
I've never wanted to see something through
more than I do now with you, let it be known.