Like I dip below you,
In the waning light
(Growing shadows)
As lingering touches
Drift us,
Like a foreign lullaby,
In a broken music box,
Into fitful sleep,
In a dark cold room.
Where we do sleep.
In guilt I wake
And turn away from you,
Just a silhouette against space.
But.
My hands find you,
Feel the breaths you take,
Ours in syncopation.
And I trace a line
Straight on your spine,
A gentle, trailing touch,
No more than that of an airy kiss,
A puff of cold air.
Three am,
I muss your hair and you stir slightly,
Yawn,
Your cavernous mouth,
Something I miss when we must be apart.
The cold feeling bites at my toes,
I move closer and
In your subconscious
You embrace me.
In the dark,
I see nothing,
Save for when you open your eyes
And peer at me,
As sleepy grin,
On your darkened face.
Eyes blue as the Pacific.
Dreams float to us,
A weaving pattern of conscious.
And I see the flicker of the streetlamps,
Through the cracked window.
With the curtains,
Hugging the breeze.
He loves the way the night air smells,
But he's far-off.
In a land where the sea is green.
I fall asleep
Wrapped in night wind
And the faint smell of musk.
And in the faint purple,
Of the sun rising,
I see the peaks and valleys of the bedclothes,
You creating this landscape,
My sleeping giant,
Still and silent,
As the light creeps
Across your face.
Morning dawns,
And the mourning doves,
Call warning.
You stir,
In a look of alarm,
And wipe sleep from your eyes.
We are whisked off,
Into the daytime lives,
We each hold.
Separate winds take us away,
Spur us on,
Away from this ugly
Truth,
Neither you,
Nor I can face.
Rough-Rough draft of a combine three poems,
Rough rough...
Still needs so much work.
But alas,
Here is one draft.
No comments:
Post a Comment