Sunday, November 4, 2012

Wine In a Coffee Mug

The sun is sinking and is awfully missed.
Cold breezes are for the keeping and lay motionless
in dark hair. Fragile lips count the teeth in a lovers mouth,
and the town elder rests stout in a rocking chair gazing upon what could have been
years and years ago.
Now loneliness is hidden knee deep in a blanket of snow
with each coming winter. As long as we have each other,
babe, spring will lead us back to the moment
when we fell in love. In the midst of autumn’s cusp.
You, my awkwardly beautiful man, wrap your lips tenderly
around my coffee mug - drinking the wine given to me by my mother
years and years ago, under fragmented stars
that we interpret as scattered gold.
Hiding secrets told to me by October’s harvest moon.
Sacred riddles no one will ever know – no, no, no.
No one will ever know.
 When I curl my body into yours, will you tenderly
whisper in my ear…the new daylight rays
will mean nothing to me if you are not by my side.
Only through the insomniac down time, do I learn to shed my pride
 'cause we will all leave eventually,
oh, but darling, nowhere near our “now”.
The boreal lights lull me into your private needs
as they signal us for a final bow…
until tomorrow, my love.

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