Lost spirit

Moon light in the fiddlers skies

Banting a slow burning sunset

 

Celeste I feel in lowing the spirits pose

Soft lightening breezes

 

Vesper the night cocoon

Changing altered states

 

Soft venue appears in the his eyes

I feel his feeding

 

Dark sensual eyes lay wounded

I shall feel his novice, alone in nebulous

 

Each couplet in droplets of air

Muted in gingers broth

 

I feel each decaying root stem to my breathe

Fiddlers breathe muddled

 

I can feel the limbs  darkened fruit  ripe

Roses stem, blacked with time