I used to dream in you,
swim in the sweetness dripping from your lips,
drown in its foaming effervescence.
Your heart was an open ocean in which I could drift,
cradled and fearless.
a voyager hungry for new discoveries.
Your open soul was as expansive as universes
holding all the stars and suns and milky ways and moons.. and constellations.
Your words fell as gentle as falling snow
and melted deep into the crevices
and recesses of my mind,
a light that found every corner of darkness
and illuminated it,
stretching it beyond any capacity it had ever known.
You stole my dreams of you,
a highwayman riding his horse of delusion;
wearing the garb of Lancelot
and the image of Dorian Gray.
You rode in from the sunset
haloed by a crimson dust,
bearing your concealed sword..
.. a sword that pierced the dreams of you,
pierced the golden sun to its core;
its light dimming and fading until it was no more.
and the air was filled with a gray, hot wind;
an inferno bearing through,
and carrying the putrid scent of confusion.
I used to dream.
I did not tell you that your leaving
was a catastrophe buried in grieving
like the avalanche leaving the mountain slope
destroying all flicker of hope.
I did not tell you of the heart that you ripped asunder,
leaving it to drown in a sea of its own blood,
or of the soul you left in silent wonder
like the silent destruction after the flood.
I did not tell you that I saw an ocean in your eyes,
and that every time you spoke I felt your spirit rise.
I did not tell you of the graceful gait with which you moved about,
and the confidence and assurance that left me with no doubt.
I did not tell you and I never will, some words are to remain unspoken,
but every word I said to you was a promise that remains unbroken.
I did not tell you that I did not know who I was without you,
that every word you spoke was truth and I could never doubt you.
I did not tell you that even now the wind still carries your name,
and every flood of tears I swam through could never kill the flame.
I did not tell you how your arms engulfed me, how much your love surrounds me.
How your mere touch could heal my soul, will forever astound me.
A gift is fragrance out of breath
fled from the abode of the urn
seeking respite of a wayfaring vessel
within whom, it makes its return.
Be not daunted, open the cover,
Draw deeply from spirits fathomless well
Oh, water bearer for the soul of dry parchment,
A river of words erodes the truth a mountain can tell.
Lo, winds of wisdom for the seeking leaf
Softly turn its empty pages
Stir them not, but deliver the stillness
Spoken through the love of inner sages.
Leap not, be gently drawn
Oh, sojourner, not so soon,
Soft, the precipice waits for you to cast
From the abode of your own perfume.
Those who give, journey on
Deep in the heart of others who are given
And when the page seems dark, find the spark
When the flint of the lover strikes the Beloveds frizzen.