Colours of a lover

These days are short,a chill descends around my neckthe sky is pigeon blue at the waking hourwhen surfacing from tousled sleepI live my poignant dreams of you.We’re kissing in a violet hazewarmed by an inner summer sunthat fires this furnace blaze,too white to touch too red to holdthe white and the red couple in my bedmelt to the alchemist’s molten gold .The sky is pigeon blue,it’s been a solar yearsince you left me herewhile leonine you stalked your preyuncharted regions you possesswith the powerful eye of passionate lens,I haven’t lived a single daywithout wanting to be that elusive prey,to concentrate your eye on the strong white linesof a yielding thigh travel the contours of my facewith all the intensity you wasteon inanimate sand.The chill invades my skinblood red berries mark the arcof ascending winter;this sky is paper thinpunctuated by sluggish snow,I am pigeon blueremoved from such fascination ;but my bed still holdsyour heat of oldthe white with the redthe molten gold,flowing through my dreamsin anticipation .