smoke as a spectre.

smoking a cigar, thinking of...

as smoke washes over me,

in pale nouveau, crooked halos,

broken & bent, 

laced up under the maw of a dissuaded moon,

I think of you,

behind a tobacco-wrought star,

I waking, dream of you,

where it is surely day,

where certain your lips lay straight,

beneath Mercurial curls,

tussled in mapped-out motifs,

each ebon piece a story in itself,

every love locked away in sable threads,

& far behind your vaulted eyes,

somewhere deep, turrets jailing the sun,

blackened, my star fades into the night,

spectres once rising have ceased,

jagged last breath,

I close my eyes...

midnight never makes a sound.

Author's Note

F.

Reviews

[An owl on the moon]

So deeply emotive… the haunts of a hookah in dreamish clouds of smoke… spirits of recollections singing in your shadows… Here are elusive memories on unmapped terrain… mindscapes of mystery unfolding as you speak…

[I Shred This Cabbage]

Glorious, somewhere deep turrents jailing the sun.

I don't know how you write so eloquently, passionately and deeply. I feel like a neurotic teenager when compared to your infinite brilliance. Although the inner me, the real me is just happy to be a part of it :) x

[Allyson Wolfe]

This is incredible. It's epic and simple all in one! I really love it. I can't wait to read more of your stuff! The use of imagery of the smoke is really nice!

[MOON]

Wow , really beautiful midnight never makes a sound almost a beginning of another poem. Your words evoke such strong imagery jailing the sun ... Great line many great lines.

[Alexandria Reece]

That's a wonderful suggestion Moon! I will use that as an opening line for another poem!! Thank you so much for your sweet review.