year gone by

                                   Nights on hold

                                     Her eyes have yet

                                         to behold his face like once before

                                             when he cupped hers between his hands

                                     so warm, so soft and white

                                                                                            No not like hers were brittle

                              like the sword smith

                                for she toiled much to bloom

                               in the summer’s unbalanced glaze.




An angelic

ethnic muse

This Adonis that is hers alone

   and the wind whispers a pleasing melody

   of his victorious home coming

                                                            That day there will be dancing in shopping streets,

young men will march in a band

Old widows will wave their flags

and doves will adorn the holy skies

as she melts into heroic viking arms,

and he sways her left right, then left again

never to be separated,

not by war, famine

and pain

not even by a second death




               his  name

                      fills her heart with hope,

                      like chariots descending from acrylic clouds

                            blending with purple acid, evaporating from burning roofs.

                        She’d mouth his name in every day

                         and say a prayer in solemn silence

                     Though sunset dawns

                 and blood moon hums

               in soulless flames

            his name remains

                  on her jewelled tongue

                                                                                      ’til their last wisp heralds away.



Who broke

 her armoured walls

a dare devil he is

   for he wilded his  sword that bore an insignia

He rescued her from a dubious nightmare

covered her skin with tapered textile

for this, she dubbed him knight of her heart

and lord over her soul

truly he has risked it all

                                                                                 to insure that he may dare

       graze his lips upon her ebony cheek



    O’ how she yearned

for his touch and kiss

                                                                       to hear his voice, bare and thready

The voice that lingers in her soul

and compels her to light up

like a million fireflies on a beach shore

His voice was like her soul, dainty and mystical

and his soul like her voice,

lost in the sea of desire

   and peace.