Moist, pressing, warmed air; Heavy with the scent Of love's expired, rapid, Now resting breaths; Wrapped in silken cloaks Of one another's skin.
This Sunday afternoon, In heaven's corridor Where faded, musky drapery, Shades cobwebbed windows And shafts of winter's sun Play softly on your brow
Blissful cocoon, so safe inside, This otherwise, restless world. Let not movement, Nor deeply drawn in sigh, Tear apart this Impenetrable, yet fragile,haven
Capture this feeling Held, buried deep in memories Against a day when Spells could break And memories are all we have Should love decide to flee
Comments (2)
A gentle poignancy in these lines, you express misgivings without recourse to bitterness - a fine write.
Bill