Poetry

I die of love for him, perfect in every way,
Lost in the strains of wafting music.
My eyes are fixed upon his delightful body
And I do not wonder at his beauty.
His waist is a sapling, his face a moon,
And loveliness rolls off his rosy cheek
I die of love for you, but keep this secret:
The tie that binds us is an unbreakable rope.
How much time did your creation take, O angel?
So what! All I want is to sing your praises.

(Abu Nuwas, 756 - ca. 815 AD)

I asked him one day
"What will put out the fire
That you have lit in me,
O, most fearsome of men?"
He answered, "My lips."

(Muhammad Shams al-Din, ca. 1383 - 1455)

Aroused, he exhales
The intense perfume of his musk.
The sight of his face, lit by a ray of light
Imprints itself.

So arresting is his beauty,
So limitless its power,
That the gaze of those parched for love
Envelops him in tenderness,

And the caress of all those black eyes
Has daubed his body
With their magic color.

(Muhammad Shams al-Din, ca. 1383 - 1455)

Source: The World History of Male Love