The moon her pearl
night her rhapsody,
strolling lavender blooms
within her mind,
somewhere beyond her prison
they flower in intensity.
She’ll wander a wisp,
passion’s astral apparition,
walking by desire,
lovers communing among the field,
every eve entwined in harvest,
by morn they’ll be memories
of faces in history books,
sorceress of lilac
never restrained to intimacy with living.






9 old applause
