Pale, smooth skin a moonlight kin
Pale luminescent sheer subtle like pearls
Crackling laughter like pebbles
Skipping over rippling lake shore
Big round, cerulean eyes
Boundless leagues sea scape horizon
Drinking in the sight of the heavens
Cheeks soft and cool salmon pink
Lone stretched shadow rippling
Over blades of glass soft to the touch
His lips upturned crescent soft spoken
Laden with a story waiting to unfold
Trembling yet still to the marrow
Thinking about nothing at all

The snow chastised, floating
Swirling through the blue ridden air
Smokey haze, crackling splinters
Of wooden fibers wretched from their lair
A washout water mark
Radiating flowing heat
Crickets weeping viola harmonies
Reminiscing fiery ambers singing
In memory of months laden with snow
When man could skid on the lake  
Skating lavish traces in echo
Of ghost striking pitched chorus
Something like mourning
Fluttering in the reflection
A bittersweet harmony with

lie down embroidered in the cool darkness
startling signatures dotting infinite oblivion*
capsizing a raging fiery glow transition
singing of great chorus daunting premonition

anticipate the halt of breath prior
the splinter in time where the trees
gander the melodious swell intimate
the slumber left behind to the well of day

that fraction of a moment
my bedroom window encompassed
upon softest pastel pallets, kissing the breeze
soothing the scars and ceaseless throb

amazed, drinking in the spilling of sunlight
clouds streaking the stains eradicating, pulsing over
nature chirping and sighing with that of sage
lucid bliss settling gently on defenses in my chest

and as the day swirls and falls, pulses and cringes
coming home, bustling with stings pinching
thoughts gone quite tired and violent
the sun descends, and night begins

shadows cast, swimming in direction
like a flood of acoustic strumming
and wink of yawning black cat
the world softens and slows

lives retreat and flowers sway in the breeze
aching hearts and bitter limbs rest in sheets
linen of softest cloth, woven by threads
a comfortable place to rest my head

and the day descends and night takes full
crickets crying and mystery lurking
fingers soothing the spasms in my brain
with every turn of page, the stroke of brush

resting with the sliver lurking
everywhere I go, ghosting in echoes
reaching out with eyes quite closed
*mind swirling with undefined competence

a lone picture frame
silhouetted in the dark
gazing eyes behind the glass
washed away from the glare
of moonlit snare,

a story hidden
a memory buried
but save for this glare
of such lucid aghast
in the beauty of itself
in the moment where
light touches the glass

and another world unfolds