Alabaster black, holding the valley in palms white and grey. Coming dusk, evening glow. Wintersong as treeline bends the knee at your skirts. Snow remembers colours climbing. The hearth that mattered. The view that remembered the girl I would become. I drew my sisters upon the glass. In silk, and skin. Adore, in our diary of moments. Cry, whisper and page. All having lovers at the threshold. Moth of gates, fierce as antlers. Feather of raven pale, pretending an angel's wing. It was, my love. It was. Door, and door, and opened door. Adventure lifting the mountain on those days of thrilling lonesome. Night of poets raising the sky as you slept. Blow, oh wind, to the crescent of her sleeping. I have been dreaming for you since your first day. I wept last night. Hold the valley for me, painter. Keep its kiss awhile.
Post a Comment