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 .