Afterglow
Afterglow: The pleasant remembrance of a past experience
Afterglow
When I think of afterglow, my cheeks,
my whole body becomes tinted, as
the skies in passionate throes of sunset.
What is this makeup we wear, this blush,
the maddening red dye of cascading hair?
Touch, not in sight, but the hide’n seek
of mountains and valleys, limbs and bush.
The afterglow of eyes, hidden in space,
a darkness with flickering stars of fantasy.
Words mostly moaned and moist, measured
by the brilliant treasury of two in oneness.
Forgetfulness of being grounded; flying
with forgotten memories of all in all.
Afterglow of hours, after the vanilla moon
and bubbly champagne, or just a restless day.
The yes, oh yes, not the nays. The bursting
of energy, then a melody of yawns. At dawn,
the colors through metamorphosis of night
have faded, plant the feet from silky sheet
to solid ground. Don’t worry, there are rounds
of such, that are not found in a one night stand.
The marriage bed may seem one and done,
the same sun, moon and stars. You don’t know
how the whole heavenly body draws closer
to examine two as one flesh, quite curious.
Curious the knowledge you find when
you get to know the whole park, punctuated
by a segment of life, the volcanic thundering,
the seasonal depths, the arrest of breaths.
Afterglow shall remain in generation after generation.
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