Gold dust of the moon fallen at the feet of laughing Lords ~daria S. dawson
Momentary desire drips from the seam of Their words
They sit stroking the crooked mouth of the stream
Staring like white paper into yesterday's dream
Fishtails wear the images of a lady's erotic parody
The salt of an eagle's tear burning the wounds of sand
Can you hear me? Can you hear the echo of the wind?
Romancing daylight doves, raining on the threshold
Tiptoeing on twilight lace severed by emerald blades
Where in the world is flourishing time or space?
Sleeping with a clasped brassiere
She felt the fingers of shame dance on her spine
Wide-eyed midnight telling tales to the dusky moon
I wonder if she'll sense touch before sun reaches high noon
Why is it drizzling my name on the mirror?
Aloe juice tainted with a hint of musk
His footprints on the banister floor
Silence falls the angelic room with dismay
The key evaporates as the intruder slams the goodbye door
Did He kiss the grain from her slumbering eyes?
Aren't you staying for a croissant?
The baker filled them with raspberry an hour ago
The cello leans besotted in the arch of the wall
Enchanted, played, marinated with a Stranger's glow
Meet at the eight fount in 90 minutes?
Shade knows my furtive fancy, He rumors to radiance
Radiance reflects my elegant passion across translucent, wet excess
Where have the brewers gone? I'm craving the grind of bean
'Twas Your sighs invading my mind, 'twas Your fingers beneath my dress
The guest lingers in the boot at the Riverside Café. Yes...
© 2001