Free Verse # 278 (a fading dream)

Each poem dipped
into the inkwell of memory,
between shivering fingers held
to paint the nocturnal mural
into a fading dream.

~

Young girls
scurry the roads
like flowers,
and I long for the rose
amid whose petals lives
the night and its fragrance,
the day and its pure light.

~

With each flick
of tongue and pen
he paints her,
a poem bleeding
in his cup of wine.

~

Wielding a flame
to her candle-wax skin
with his fingers he moulds her,
a river of white wine
flowing serpentine
into the wellsprings of eternity.

~

Shaking from my leaves
the tears of yesteryear
into the steep silence of my heart
her voice travels,
now a hissing snake
now rolling thunder.

~

Crafting the tea vapour
into scarves of silk
and bathing her naked skin
in this tremulous flow
of breath and poetry

~

His silent shadow
upon her skin falls etching
a thousand fluttering desires,
fireflies aching
to burn on his altar,
therein be consumed.

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