She would tell me on amber evenings beneath the waiting sky
That she was my only moon, orbiting my edges
Like a well orchestrated love song,
Suspense in desiring to touch what she could only see.
She may be able to eclipse all light,
Be the only thing I long for at night
But there are others out there
Who will fill this space between us,
And in her face it shows
That each night is closer to her last.

The butterfly catchers net sat silently on a bed of frost,
Crisp catches of colour reflecting the Spring sun,
Lines of emerald to grace the walls of a London home.
Like dreams they lay still, an untouched memory.
An easy ****, gently executed and put to rest
To be remembered in the evening light
On a gentleman's windowsill.

I cannot escape the particles of light that shimmer on her skin,
Glowing embers dancing where my fingertips have been.
The coffee cup grows empty, and her weary eyes meet mine
And for a moment I lose myself completely
Intoxicated with her sunrise*.