Living the Dream

In this life
time
where we do not speak
of leaving,
longing,
or anything stronger
than intellectualized  instructions,
there was a Once
upon whispered breath
that was two, three times
a lady’s longing
to be inhaled
as romance
but became
much less.
Pull of a string
became the dirge
of a fiddle
depending on the night
sky that danced,
speechlessly,
while life got in the way.
My weeping.
Your way.

Tags: Poems, Skin Talk //