Thursday, March 5, 2020

Joy V. Sheridan writes


He touched my cheek once
in the early morning mist
I was fit as star that shone
in the drift of the dawn
touched it, softly edged it
with a kiss from his lips
over the white scattered sheets
he dropped a line of love
no word – no, no word
just a pausing pass from a stranger
who glanced
at the image of myself
as it had been made
and I rode on rode on regardless
with the horses of the dawn
to the white and black star
to the middle of another dream
to that hand which touched me
no word, just a soft trembling breath
that made me an ecstasy of the wild wind
and threw the lark high into its summer sky
his hand was light but I felt the touch
over the crumpled white sheets
and the miracle of love performed
between the sun and moon
stood stilly in my heart
He knelt slowly by the bedside
still touching
as I relived the comet’s fiery passage
through the heavens,
flying high with white swans
and golden sparrows and nightingales
that sang sweetly
the morning star was beautiful
dappling with splintering magical silver light
touching the green leaf, foliage
he put his fingers to his lips
slowly smiled
then touching the curve of the cheek
he lifted the crumpled sheet
and placed it over my body
he left slowly
like a ghost playing with a new-found toy
I awoke as the door closed
and found the petals of a white rose
had been scattered on my breast
and the morning sang with multinous voice
a thousand nightingales calling
in the blue of the dawn.

No comments:

Post a Comment

Join the conversation! What is your reaction to the post?