First Cherubic Chance

This road is snake-like except for the crusty scales of an intestinal late dusk. A boy treaded on the lane tracks lean and nomadic... burnt shoulders grilled and toasted by the sun, as if his coal skin sparked like burning diamond weeds. In a flash, a tender sorcery poured in my veins. There and then, I longed to whisper a tune, play the tambourine or partake of the loaf in my sack with him. But he waited for paper clouds to ruffle his hair, seemingly undisturbed by pilgrims like me holding unto holy relics and bones of night. The gauze shirt as his frock winged with the silver winds, windblown stroking my ebony tresses with a whisper hushed by his delicate omnipresence. In a dimly lit bus, sand wheezed tribal notes moist on my eyelids uprooted by uncontained temples of longing, now becoming thick as woolen destiny. If only for a flicker of time, his eyelids met mine so briefly... parting saline dust of sacred, smiling gazes. I was inside a cell of a wombed bus. He was outside enlarged by a hundred stars exploding dewdrops, inviting eternity. For a fraction of silence, we met somewhere between the fluorescent of our twin eyes. He, the angel first fondly encountered ; I, the dreamer ever bewildered… I remember...I was five. ---oooo----oooo--- (( P.D.'s " your Own Favorite Poem by nette onclaud))