4 SHALLOW LOVE IS LIKE A REVERIE
Unflinchingly, you sit in slumbered pose
as breath is amber bathed in bright moonlight
with rhythmic pulse in time's perspective held,
when fragile candles caress tawny skin,
you watch the honeyed flame shimmer air.
This morphs in shade by tinted cream
like jaundiced moths that kiss magenta lips,
you tempt my eyes to reflections of shapes
that crystallise our naked past portraits,
framed like snaps from holidays long ago,
remembering a play with mirrored stage
each part performed with aplomb then exit,
the lines are cliched, stuttered in straw sheets
as canaries sing trapped in twisted nets
Je t’aime Ich liebe dich Volim te,,, true?
Similarly, the lady of shallot cannot grasp
or stare at love directly framed by gilt
in fields of barley dressed in yellowed gold,
are flaxen flames pure cowardice undressed?
The tingle tightens nerves in craven stroke
that choke a heavy lament played with ease.
All time now slows like treacle hours still drip
and lemon fires now freeze our close embrace
with secret passion's gasp and groan resound
towards the helios in heated crests.
Now turn away, the ivory flame in wrath
dissolves all blackened ash as you depart.
I dream a phoenix sets its spiralled flight
to golden stars and gilded skies for us,
regenerated from dark sunflower fields.
27 April 2019
Copyright © brian DUFFIELD | Year Posted 2019