By: F. Poussin
Focused inward to a reality unseen, privileged, puerile,
the towel dowsed in the shower’s summer rain is dry.
Impossible, illusory, farther as it might be close,
a quake sudden, fast rotation, the jerk to a better realm.
Behind the lids, a smile belonging to the many,
yet to one and none other, with so soft a sound
steps away, to an evanescent gateway out of reach.
Breath resounds in undefined corridors to perpetuity.
Vague pastel tones on a foggy barricade, surround
Potentialities lost in their attempt to find creation.
Fear materializes in a scream deep, colorless, atone;
semi comatose lips barely touching, in loving dew.
Spectator of the infinite moment must not awaken;
this love relies on it sole, unresolved, built on hope alone.
Single, the companion will not turn away, nor vanish;
still in immensurable motions, life is its essence whole.
Radiating star of a willed night, encounter of a dreamed land,
spirit haunting at every corner, living statue gifted of
a beating heart, warm, apparition genuine as a romance
finds rest and comfort in the pulses of another soul.
Of two worlds, summoned when dusk is mistress of light,
entrapped in the most passionate of lethargic hours,
energized to the core, the blues simply burn of joy
undefinable, as now boundless seconds become eons.
Safe under the covers of a satin moon in tender embrace,
a snow of lightly delicate stars hovers, gentle cloud;
peace reaches in conquering victory to all mysteries
of the being real in a verse, neighbor to the one common.