Here's a new poem (well, new to those who aren't patrons on Patreon - and if you aren't - DO IT! Super cheap. Starts at a buck a month, and I send you personalized, curated things I make daily.
REVERIE
You. You are clad in a slip
of storm-shadow. Afternoon
daydreams on a spartan bed.
Until the moment you rise
and feel the sudden weight upon your brow,
You maintain that magic circle,
Feed the mewling, frightened worms
with stories of her,
The love-that-is-to-be.
A soft, time-worn hand cradles in the thin light
an imagined waist. An unused pillow
is simulacra for her nape. There is no face.
No combination of sage syllables
forming a clear name.
No sign. You listen for a voice, and hear the low and present hum
of the living city.
Two clues keep the spell electric;
She secrets the faint, gentle scent of chocolate,
and bears a warm, crackling embrace.
She presses you hard, and every hair,
every scent, every mark on your skin
is measured.
