aristofene

more sad poetry... Is there any other kind?

You

In your fragile hand
A mystery you hold
The ephemeral labyrinth
Of my solitude will dissipate
In the little folds of your fingers
With the fragrance of a wild orchid

The light ink of your pistils
My soul will consume
Permeating your perpetual
Mystifying scent
Through my whole raisin skin
Reviving me
To anew spring in a cold
January night

The silk sheets are a fertile
Soil for our seeds
Discovering a new beginning
Under the sun of an April
Afternoon our petals will
Welcome the smooth subtle
Caresses of its hands