Bespoken as he was,
          He gathered thoughts,                                                    "I
                   Caught her stare,

                 Wearing a mantle
                   Harried by doubt,
          Fashion was so fickle,                                                 want
But her dress was beautiful,
                               in this light.

       "I killed him, I killed him,"
                Her laugh was cold
                        And refreshing,                                                 you
And he wondered if she was
                As strange and lost
          As all his instincts said.

                         "Who was he?"
                     Intrigue flickered,
    Steady only when he slept.                                                 to
   The night became suspect
     Soon after hushed words;

         "He died in my dreams,"
          Her eyes were orchids,
               Wisps of hair drifted                                               have
                       Across her face,
   Even the air seemed tense.

                   She held his hand
                        Over her breast,
                    It was warm, light,                                             this."
          Words became relative,
          Supple to the his touch;

The End

0 comments about this poem Feed