This here be drip-dried mourning
of a longing, long lost
to wind-wilted wanderlust: of lonesome mornings.
First to be penned
synched to that crimson pulse ink
but last, to be shared
hidden in those corridors where outed-truth
can’t cut anew
time harvested feelings, that never ceased
their incessant bleeding.
Cherished one, know that I will stay true
to that last blink of sanity
keeping from a distance
that promise I shred
while by your side.
Macho rugby-shaped eyes
that watch, pluck and steal
in the name of empathy rhymes. Yet
stare dormant at funerals
till elders, usher them out-of-sight
for disturbing, those visibly grieving.
Brutal eyes that melt
gushing, barely contained
by oversized eyelash dams
with just a fleeting recollection: of your laughter’s silhouette.
Memories, serenading with your lips
lipstick-less au-naturel fullness
with magnetic Vaseline gloss
as twinkling guides
to that sweetest of nature’s delights.
Kind one, blessing with reveries gifts
of laugh-out-loud bursts, or
secrets - wrapped in stifled giggles.
Traversing decades in a pulsed skipped-beat
lost, within a yearning\'s mental embrace
weaving - grey aged patience, believing
in the coming of opportunity
where, with unflinching certainty
I shall approach first - for a change
and cast my flag firmly: upon your effervescent sails.
© L. B. Mek