These days are short,
a chill descends around my neck
sky is pigeon blue at waking hour
when surfacing from tousled sleep
I live my poignant dreams of you .
We’re kissing in a violet haze
warmed by a burning inner sun
too white to touch too red to hold
the white and the red couple in my bed
till I’m moist with the alchemist’s molten gold .
The sky is pigeon blue,
it’s been a solar year since you left me here
while leonine you stalked your prey
uncharted regions you possess
with the powerful eye of your passionate lens,
I haven’t lived a single day
without wanting to be that elusive prey;
concentrate your roving eye on strong white lines of a yielding thigh
travel the contours of my face
with all the intensity you waste on inanimate sand.
The chill invades my skin
blood red berries mark the arc
of ascending winter. The sky is paper thin
punctuated by sluggish snow, I am pigeon blue
removed from such fascination ;
but my bed still holds your heat of old
the white with the red the molten gold,
poured through my dreams
in poignant anticipation .