Par la bougie qui vacille

Let the sun set low; cull the light from the
Air and replace it with the resonance
Of the harmonious tones spilling from
The sweet of your lips and fire on your tongue.
Hark! Hark! Hear you not my quiet response?
Hear you not my words of passion and praise?
Such confessions of Aphrodite can't be
Expelled with every exhalation.
Such professions of Aphrodite shan't be
Expelled with every desperate breath.