Drifting in an endless glow;
the dance, your eyes,
the taste of your skin and
words not said aloud.
Attar clings to dry roses
as memories of your perfume
cling to my senses
or, asif a phantom limb:
forever gone but always there.
With eyes closed,
The Kiss (Gustav Klimt)
shimmers in my sight and soul.
Still, against my face,
I feel your hair like warm, perfumed silk.
Finally, sleep cedes a grudging balm,
dreams reign for what seems mere moments...
and hope slowly awakens with the dawn.
* For anyone unaware, "The Hanged Man" is Tarot Major Arcana
the dance, your eyes,
the taste of your skin and
words not said aloud.
Attar clings to dry roses
as memories of your perfume
cling to my senses
or, asif a phantom limb:
forever gone but always there.
With eyes closed,
The Kiss (Gustav Klimt)
shimmers in my sight and soul.
Still, against my face,
I feel your hair like warm, perfumed silk.
Finally, sleep cedes a grudging balm,
dreams reign for what seems mere moments...
and hope slowly awakens with the dawn.
* For anyone unaware, "The Hanged Man" is Tarot Major Arcana
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