Free Verse # 391 (I’m scared of loneliness)

My cold hands shivering
on words that will not come,
and your thighs
a summer sheath calling me
to spill it all within,
a bonfire of ink and wine.


A full moon reigns
and I am in a strange land,
my hand
through her dark curls
for forgotten memories.


Whenever in my pen
no ink is there to write
I search to find it
etched to a slow burn
on the curves of your lips,
in the wellspring of your eyes.

So I call you a thieve
and kiss your hands,
break my pen and throw it,
and journey into you,
to the source of poetry.


I am a poet
running barefoot
in a city of broken stars
searching for the candle
burning in your window,
aching for your touch.


Fire’s ash
The dust of snow
It all will pass
High or low
And all the seeds
We reap and sow
Are in the moments
When in love we grow


The shadow of her hair
in the evening breeze,
her voice from afar
in the heart of the mist
sounding an invisible bell.


Her smile was the fragrance
missing from my life,
the shaft of light
that could pierce
the cloud of my soul.


Snug against my neck…
her perfume in the morning
a candle’s burning breath


Winter night…
here and there the scattered
ashes of poetry


My wound aches
for the sear
of the fire in her lips


I’m scared of loneliness, so I write to be with you.


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