Morning thickens around us, like verses, full of meaning as clouds consumed with thought are kissed a brilliant white, and I, in deepening admiration surrender to conversation rapt in the poesy of your philosophical being, perhaps I belong to you to what seems lost but is a gentle remnant unfound– I listen to your words, to change in breathing pattern, your chest rising and falling until my ribs are filled with your beauty, your curves, your scent, your skin — I have instructed the heart to become accustomed to lesser than rosy-eyed slumber. Perhaps this is a failing of mine, these silent reveries that seep from a corner in my mind, as if ripe berries weeping complaisance when plucked by hand– let the breeze amble by touching us and drifting over soft air so quiet, you just might be every kind of worthwhile I have ever known.
No softeners required, lemon or lime my ecstasy my medication as I pace along lines of the mind’s track field– the muse knows nothing of the promise of tomorrow nor predicts slow opening of your eyes, your groans bittersweet as cinnamon sweet and savory all at the same time– still making me grin your eyes dark as olive give away hints of a night ungovernable, let them trace my back and dust it red as moonlight dances and touches upon the shelves– I have waited too long for expressions of your chocolate onyx want, I want the song; I want the song.
Every night when I lie down beneath the stars I die, my only companion being a blanket of sky and words ringing loudly in my ears, and every morning as I wake my mind conjures new images for the soul to dip in— and even though the eyes may only discern one step at a time I am convinced the universe is leading me nearer to my purpose, my reason for existence for which I sought to embrace the world.
The self is often unseeing, unaware of the path it’s supposed to be of opinion, I gasp as the cold air caresses my cheek as though beckoning to observe the landscape, the underlying possibilities for my poetic heart to indulge in. The clouds diffuse morning light to a subtle sweetness, as I ask myself the following questions: Who am I now? who was I before? I suppose awakening is when we finally learn to be true to ourselves disregarding what others have taught us to be, and while I choose to remain close to origin, I can’t help but wonder why branches deeply rooted long to stretch towards the horizon–
I am conscious of half empty tea cup and few rainier cherries poised on the table, their thick and creamy yellow flesh eager for a second bite; eat, love and offer your palms in prayer, there is only so much the heart can endure, early thirties led me to understand who and what I truly am– poetry my vivication, my pulse, my strength as city remembers a forgotten tale and shadows shift like pearly rays across a cruel moraine, ignorance’s silhouette shows no remorse as verses scatter into the open– I am a flickering flame familiar with its various hues and shades, as I ready myself for challenges my pen has yet to face.
You leave me unfinished staring deeply into the abyss of time, I, a rough sketch of desire, attempting to put words together your scent lingers as rain conjuring a gentle yet dark pattern upon my skin, remember when we were strangers– in tandem stationed in the bucolic hills the shape of those days meant nothing if either one of us wasn’t contained in them, your scent dances around inside my head as autumn leaves cascade to the ground unhindered– the night has already beckoned the body to rest, conscious of raw rush taking over as I drift into sleep. Your lips erubescent — taste of the finest raisins and cherries oh, how I wanted you to define me! You are poetry that seeks to align me with the world without pretense; I, a warm and persistent candle wafting in the wind, remember when we were strangers?