The clockwork ticks transformed to fog and air
while dusk absorbed the beacon's blinking signs,
- surreal and indefinite designs
with tangible his steady flash and flare;
beneath the kind, retentive cloak of chance,
- he breathed her in, her aural scent and glance.
Inside the tavern sea-men ordered drinks;
amidst the tulips of the hazy smoke,
he felt the night with owls' persistent croak,
and lady Sadness 'pon the starboard brinks;
Invisible the night descended slopes
in quietness with dark, elusive scopes.
Her primrose scent - ambrosian sorrow's gate,
remote Paradisos and range of soul
perfumed her whiff surpassed, and burned like coal,
he clenched the glass and drunk the dark brusque straight,
the tumbler shattered - deep inhaled her scent,
- with unrelenting his blood thrash torment.
The night was dense; inside the mists he drew
with red drops dropping from the deep palm cut
a wraith, she vanished while her louvres were shut
the nightfall's emptiness inside him grew
caressed the heavy door, its luster stained
the primrose scent inside his mind ingrained.
And she descended - Nymph the fates had graced;
betimes he breathed the scent of night primrose,
same carnal prayer and adytum disposed,
her sacrosanct of pathos' splendor traced;
with flash reflecting in her eyes' domain
the primrose scent dispersed inside the rain.
© G.V., 09-07-2013 All rights reserved
(five sextains, sestines or sestinas - Iambic pentameter)