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beth-fwoah-dreamPoems
when the ghost of the dark cried for sunset and the darkness arrived like a storm the cliffs all angular and windswept to wait long for the blossoms of dawn, the dark all a seascape of blackness a dance that soon opened every door the clouds darkest grey, hardly senseless, the waves that blue anchored the shore. our love was a drifting of sorrow like a tide only longing to flow baptised while it waits for the morrow, the moon’s tender orb all aglow, when i kiss you beneath the bright starlight each star throws a fisherman’s net, and your flesh tastes like silvery moonlight, like the first night we met. the late clouds gather their silver the wind blows like the song of a ghost, and my heart pounds like a burgeoning river, and all time in its fever is lost. the storm’s edge blows open the window, the shutters pushed out from the sill the clouds are a story of sorrow, the evening all chill, the night hangs her clothes in her wardrobe the sun sleeps like a cloudy old bear and all of my love like a snow globe white petaled, moon-scented and fair. i dream of you like a silvery ocean whose tide ever beats ever back your love all a hypnotic potion painted silver and black.
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Jun 6, 2020
Jun 6, 2020 at 6:14 PM UTC
in love with ian dream
when the ghost of the dark cried for sunset and the darkness arrived like a storm the cliffs all angular and windswept to wait long for the blossoms of dawn, the dark all a seascape of blackness a dance that soon opened every door the clouds darkest grey, hardly senseless, the waves that blue anchored the shore. our love was a drifting of sorrow like a tide only longing to flow baptised while it waits for the morrow, the moon’s tender orb all aglow, when i kiss you beneath the bright starlight each star throws a fisherman’s net, and your flesh tastes like silvery moonlight, like the first night we met. the late clouds gather their silver the wind blows like the song of a ghost, and my heart pounds like a burgeoning river, and all time in its fever is lost. the storm’s edge blows open the window, the shutters pushed out from the sill the clouds are a story of sorrow, the evening all chill, the night hangs her clothes in her wardrobe the sun sleeps like a cloudy old bear and all of my love like a snow globe white petaled, moon-scented and fair. i dream of you like a silvery ocean whose tide ever beats ever back your love all a hypnotic potion painted silver and black.
#swinburne
beth-fwoah-dream
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beth-fwoah-dream
Jun 6, 2020
Jun 6, 2020 at 6:14 PM UTC
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