The First Night of Spring

Much yet I seek to see, yet.

Mad am I? Of it aware I am.

Rushing in the clouds, the stormy clouds.

The rain thunders and the thunders pour.

On reunion, us?

How again shall we love thus?

The dancing floor and the creaking feet.

Swirling intoxication in the musty air.

Silent so. Appetite?

What corpses with we to sleep,

when all but my senses die?

Gracefully feathered your dresses.

Faithfully condemned my blesses. 

The thunders pour, and the raindrops roar.

A semitone, above the stormy shore.

O! My Mont Blanc!

Waxy scents of a rhapsodising lore.

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Published in: on 11/09/2015 at 2:29 AM  Leave a Comment  

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