Listen here
Far from sleep
my owl’s lonely
cry disperses
brume across the
sleeping fields:
lost chimney pots
I think of you:
my stubborn heart
unfolds its petals
carefully.
A world unrolls
from fingertip, &
I’m Scheherazade
spawning tales
for fools, while
you a songsmith
crafts each note:
a spell that I can’t
match unless we
match, this last time.
Victoria Mosley 