White Linen

She smells of fresh white linen

cotton sheets in celestial bower,

deep seated in cerulean midnight,

fashionably draped and jaded.

He hides her in his fortress.

Where she glistens by the light

of the moon and in his arbors

in auspicious afterglow…

She stirs; and he

stops breathing.

He's drained her

of her last dry glass

in that candled hour.

She reached for his familiar

and found the ground a

indecorous march,

of the blind

that lead the blind.

Her breath; a soft caress,

Deafens this night of silence,

in thrumming beats of his chest,

where her cheek

pressed,

against his heart; keening

for the sounds of life.

She listens; and It echoes still,

quietly there, in summer drums,

where once he lived and cried

to die in autumn farce

and of winter winds

that swept him barren

to lands

of cruel indifference.

Reviews

[...]

This was absolutely stunning!!!

[Bodhi]

"She stirs; and he
stops breathing.
He's drained her
of her last dry glass
in that candled hour."

"Her breath; a soft caress,
Deafens this night of silence,
in thrumming beats of his chest,
where her cheek
pressed,
against his heart; keening
for the sounds of life"

"She listens; and It echoes still,
quietly there, in summer drums,
where once he lived and cried
to die in autumn farce
and of winter winds
that swept him barren
to lands
of cruel indifference."

you carry a poem with wonderful timing
as relevance/as memories transformed to/
& of moments / of imagery.
'him/her as one/as neither / as chance maybe?
through togetherness a closeness-(perfunctory?maybe?
& emotions,as those seasons that change suddenly yet
noticeably. mood changes in this poem & is only noticed
in the end 'summer drums/autumn farce/winter winds',
'swept-barren lands...cruel indifference'...

An excellent piece of emotions captured...wondrous!!!

[Michael]

Ah to write the romantic lines, such a gift. I am glad I happened upon your works, truly they are to be read when something more than mere verse is called for. You have a wonderful flow and light touch in giving us your view of things. It does not overpower, but still moves mountains with its depth.

[Fabian G. Franklin]

" He's drained her of her last dry glass in that candled hour" Fantastic lines, just great stuff, this is why I roam around reading everything. lol I like your imagination.