This verse is long expired,
as you have not returned
to pollinate these pages with those sighs.
Nectar drips sweetest
when it trickles from your countenance--
it trickles from your mien.
It was my only ink.
My old calligraphy retreats at length
into a dimmension
somewhere between the lines of
this blankening page...
My calligraphy ferments
before your stares.
Grant, at least, some fructose
so that I can recall
these diaphonous words
to a worldly color:
one which my eyes can oversee--
one which my sense may oversee
(if it so pleases).
Their element evaporates
under your torrid scrutiny;
they accumulate
so deep in my eyes
that you should not observe them--
you should not perceive them--
unless you would (or could) divert your own
from a parched, deserted canvas
and look up.
What did you think
Comments
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Wow.... I like this poem. The imagery is awesome!! Please keep writing
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