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Over and Over Again.

The beating heart will rush away
away, away, dissolve and forget
the fever, the fire, that eats its way
through the frying ground, you’ve never met.

The blushing cheeks, the taste of arrogance
drowsy the mind into a deep pain
so what from heaven comes
is only burned wings, perplexed of the night.

A despair for the beauty’s eyes
for her dried lips, deprived of their lustre
the throat emptied from all fortitude
retarded, and in oblivion lies.

My mouth grows pale, and perhaps I should drink,
from the well of spirits
where the wings of the night stay purple red
and I turn my flight to you
and to the place we’ve inherit.

Tender should the morning become
that should be carrying my lungs,
that should take me softly in your arms
to rise my blood,
until the wild but soft wind arrives.

A taste of fluorescence a song of Provencal
are close to my thirst and hunger
the tightened lips will soon be warm
the throat a speaking miracle of wonders.

August 2017 k,c,
Painting by the author and Photo
composed by AnnMarie Zagorianos