I imagine . . .

a room draped
in muted lighting
the scene of a recent
gathering,      now departed,
nostalgia clings
to a hazy Chardonnay glass
stained by cinnamon-tinted
lips, one sip remains;
                              I indulge

across the room,
      conversation erupts
into liberated laughter,
echoing spirits    l o o s e n e d
in moonlit tongues
beneath a winding staircase;
my shadow caresses
the wooden banister,
              eaves
                     dropping  

by floor-length windows,
majestic fingers cloak
a bohemian blush
as ardent eyes lean in
without inhibition; my lips
burn from their amorous
        exchange

then haunting notes
drift upon midnight air,
the room blurs,
disintegrating into
shimmering confetti,
      spilling down
              back steps
that sting an untamed night
with distant memories,
bewitched in peonies,
fragranced by a piano's
final resonant
key

If you should leave?
My love will follow you.
If you should leave?
It will like a ghost haunting you.

But accept the truth it's not following you to scare you.
But there just to remind you of me.

If you should stay?
My love still remains.
Just like signs on this earth.
My love is not going away.

Whatever you feel we should do?
I am very open to doing it.
Just know
Just know
If you should leave?
My love will forever be true.

Vague,
the expression of response
in a relentless jade,
conjuring up primevals
risen from her house arrest.
She lives through the days of tension
by her own fortitude,
clutching to her privacy
as if a means of escape
to which she can be locked within.
Mendacious moments,
walking towards a primrose path,
allude her to try and smile.
But she knows she need not pretend,
for just as her hair falls casually
over her face,
she winces her pain
into a controlled tremble.
Proposed to glide under
freshly minted skies,
in words filled with undertone
and in serenades
softly played by calendar
chimes.

In an existence described as
Both boring and sere
She’s like a bright flower
Popping up in the sun.

Blooming in deserty
Rubble and sand.
Her fresh petals
Offer enticing perfume.

Her existence belies
The grimness of the surroundings
And provides a disguise
For the harsh reality of life.
                 ljm