The sky is volatile like his eyes;
baring into my brown and rosy sight, 
as I opt to wear existential dread  
like a dress, 
consisting of a skirt with an attached bodice―
I tell myself it doesn’t matter, 
only minutes before it begins to rain. 

Didn’t he stand there once?
where cold allure of winter faded in translucent
body of water,
free in every way, to behave as a wanton―
I could follow him there and confirm
what bodies need,
but I shudder, when I remember that even here,
so close to Eden, 
one cannot tear away from essence of argument.

He explores with fervour the idea that weighs
and tastes meaning;
as luscious as apple crumble,
it’s in that very moment that narcissus comprehends―
ties it with rope
and sanctifies that we may spend the night,
in quiet juxtaposition of souls under a white willow.

The rain comes to a halt, 
he lights his cigarette and inhales deeply,
as dress comes off and deliberation is worn instead,
perhaps, it is no sin
but my cheeks are flushed,
narcissus takes a swig and begins to hum,
his fingers caressing the lovegrass,
barren and grey―
ah Poet, did you really think I’d change?

 

 

 

 

 

Picture courtesy: Touch by Felicia Simion, Pinterest. 

Bjorn hosts at dVerse where he invites us to write a poem using Al-tool. 
I used the site called Verse by Verse where we had to select three muses
to inspire us. I chose to go with Georgia Douglas Johnson, Sydney Lanier
and Edgar Allan Poe 💙

Posted for ‘Meet the bar artificially’ @dVerse Poets Pub