Not A Dream

Not so much a summary, more a sigh of relief, after managing less than 4 poems in 2012 and fewer than 400 prose words, writing something is a brilliant feeling. Even if it is on a somewhat tried and tested theme.

I need a moment alone, beneath these dark covers,
To forage and fumble in black wallowings of what isn't,
Time to caress corners where my muse once tumbled.

I'll ponder in these solitary fragments of sultry nights
Gone the days, whispers, soft touches of dreams, words,
And sheer spilled lust we shared through lyric months.

I give freedom to my thoughts to play carefree, remembering
The touch of your breast, the picnic cup of your bra
The coffee strokes of the seam of your jeans outside HMV…

I'll piece these things back together, for once we were:
In hours, days and months we thought were timeless,
and smiles shouldn't die, so softly I'll resurrect you

I take you in the silence and splash midnight's noir sheet
With what we were… and tomorrow? Tomorrow, I'll rise
Again to days that glisten like pebbles moist with our musings.

The End

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