Free Verse # 347 (in her skin I confide my poetry)

En de moments simples
Quand l’aube est une prière
Sa voix bat ses ailes
Et je deviens un feu
S’élançant vers elle
Comme un vin amoureux
De ses lèvres vermeilles


Her freckled skin
a sky full of stars
and I
a white bearded sailor
who spent his whole life
reading their orbits
to walk through the world


No one hears me,
and as this poem falls silent
my heart blooms open
into a flower made of ice.


These lines
penned with blood
for whom do they flower?
On lonely pathways
the falling dusk
strokes my shattered heart.


All alone
in a house of shadows,
yesterday’s lights fading
as the night
with a wounded mouth
sears my body with ache
for her who never comes.


In her skin
I confide my poetry,
the murmur
of its white essence
in her veins flowing
a silence deeper
than the sky of dawn.


Her breath the seashell
where my poem curls,
when I inhale
I take her in,
when I sigh behold
she is the whole sky.


In her heart
I go,
a boat
behind far horizons
in her clouded breaths
in her land
of no return.


My fingertips stroke
the hem of your light
and my heart falls silent
as my poem fills
with the marrow of your voice


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