December 1, 2022
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He is a cinnamon peeler; unrivaled,
for this reason
I am swept away—
why? I do not consume wine, nor sing
of saccharine promises that coat the tongue,
inasmuch, that, a bouquet
of clumsy words go, as summer offers thoughts
that grow, it’s time
we heed to the voices that can be heard
in-between the lines,
now that, it’s difficult to pretend
as though one’s unaffected,
as the season makes its way into the blood
and veins,
I have been falling for a while—
just, as Pygmalion once yearned for Galatea,
for now, I watch the moon,
it rarely seeks one out, unless
like paper and ink, intensity bears a scent?
From here on,
I want to soften those limbs,
sing the body electric as petals fall from trees—
it’s a chorus that sounds even when the wind
wishes it otherwise, their language astounds me.
I apologize for failing to resist.

 

 

 

 

Photo credits: “Eugenia VII,” by Fabian Perez, Pinterest

Laura hosts at dVerse and invites us to write using the final lines of atleast twelve
of our recent poems. Come join us! ❤

Below is a list of poems used to compose this piece:

From the Inns of Aurora
Cocktails with Morpheus
Orchestration round hour of Mulberry sunset
Aubade – I Sing the Body Electric
The inexorable charm of his roguish sidelong glance
Come, fleck the canvass with Blood Moon
As Pygmalion once yearned for Galatea
A Scarlet Pause exists between Cirrus clouds and City
The Cinnamon Peeler
On the rooftop unbroken by city, wheel and unripe hope
Intensity bears a scent
Under the willow tree

Posted for MTB – End is my beginning @dVerse Poets Pub