October 13, 2022
 |  24 Comments

As white blossom, philosophical argument,
and coveting of sorts,
the idea of you consumes every feeling
and every thought;
late into the night,
when even the wind resonates with waves
of gentle seduction—
I ask myself, where have I seen you before,
a place where poets go to dream,
or in scripture
that dates back thousands of years,
who knows?
I have yet to make sense of it all.

As Pygmalion once yearned for Galatea,
do I pen these words;
your rosebud lips
and stormier than storm eyes,
are as Autumn,
are as serenity of browns and resilience of
red in the light of day—
chaos runs deep, and yet I am filled with
a sense of peace,
this feeling isn’t as easy as I thought it
would be to describe.

You do not know it, but I have immortalized
you in every moonrise,
in every poem and breath alike,
I write,
because there is no other option,
you have left longing on my tongue,
and now I have grown accustomed—
tell me, how is this fair?

Skin as carob hues, the world is quiet
without you, is a waste of space,
without you I am nothing more than ash
and dust,
it’s funny how feeling can change you,
you are here, finally—
softening neon lights to rainbows in the dark,
this is a love letter till time comes
and body is returned to the ground,
for now, let us lie beneath the stars,
he lifted his head and gave a sideways glance,
as though mouthing a reminder—
As Pygmalion once yearned for Galatea.

 

 

 

Photo credits: Concrete man and woman statue, Unsplash

Posted for Open Link LIVE – October Edition @dVerse Pub