Couple sous l’arbre ou Les amoureux, Lovers, 1887-1985, Marc Chagall
I ache for an esoteric escape ~
to relearn the unwritten rhythm,
lost in the gravity
of your gossamer gaze,
where the sun
no longer dawns
as a sinister star ~
and the dust
of monsoon skies
rains soulful sonatas,
while mellifluous mists
merge with silence,
to paint
a porcelain portrait
that feels like forever ~
not merely
a picturesque prison,
but a place that houses love,
beyond uncertainties
framed in fear…
but now we meet and muse
in the realm of garnet gravels,
a dream delicately composed
in roseate reverie
where this becomes
more than a portrait,
a poem woven with patience,
when heavy is the past
that
pushes, pulls,
presses ~
while leaves sigh and
drift through skies of
autumnal elegance…
I surrender to your balmy blues
the ocean-deep devotion.
I long to devour and remain
consumed
amidst the
boulevard of divine doves
a field of freedom
until every evening
envelops our thoughts
with tender teal ~ timelessness
and soul-prints pulse
and glimmer
tracing twilight’s melodies
like silk-laced stars
spinning through
the cashmere cadence
of everlasting Eden…
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