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In a Silent Way
The languid petals of addiction fall in a silent way;
they do not scream or keen, but wrap insidious mind-vines
around all that you are, soft as a smother of snow.
And no one speaks of it, tongue-muffled. Yet here I am
stumbling soundlessly round the house again at 3 a.m.
searching for cerulean soothe, however many milligrams
to silence the night: its loud black shout.
Somnolent vocals of valium; a lethargic lexicon
swaying the cacophony of strident day
and quietly mining crystals of calm.
A deep dive into hushed obsidian skies...
Moon-pearls rippling in a bedside water glass;
reflections pale and beautiful, lithe as a bare-breasted woman
slipping into night's negligee, innermost indigo folds...the night-hued sea,
undulations of waves...sleep waves washing over me,
under me, around me, wrapping me
in the languid language of night: its dark and delicate whisper.
Sinking further into the deep; sleep-sliding into a wordless world,
welcoming soft murmurings of the moon's flower,
dropping valium's voiceless sleep-petals hour by hour.
Copyright ©
Charlotte Puddifoot
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