Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Chris Weallans Jul 2014
Your name is a whisper
the slow serpentine hush
the almost sound of breath
like breezes or brushes
ocean breakers gushing
in a rush of water
flushing in the dry sands

it rumours in the air
like sudden awareness
or lovers unwinding
in glimmering moon-glow
their silver bodies spent

I have nothing to bring
only the dress of stars
from the far velvet night.
A moment’s blistered flare
A glimpsed winking sky
Between the curtains’ folds

I breathe these few slight words
dance on the rim of dawn
to make a stuttered prayer
in my trembling fingers

Now I wait in seconds
in slumbering minutes
on the day’s bright harbour
counting the rosary
of your voyaging sleep

— The End —