Friday, 3 March 2017

Voice

The nectar of your voice
Fills me with molten chills
And the staining juices of summer berries
Casually harvested
From summer woodland glades
Deep in the peace-forged,
Orange-honeyed lands.

The gleaning sonar
Of those husky inflections
Over essence of vanilla
Ignites within my kernel
Ripples
Of tinkling wind chimes
In chill rain
Upon the veranda
Where I watch
Nothing passing
But am held within
By chemical tingling
And bright sunspots
At the thought of hearing again
Your chewy toffee.

Cadences of swallows and swifts,
Clouds drawn by warmth,
Clear air beating
Like the curvature of a water droplet,
A teardrop perhaps,
On the edge of memory,
A sombre trumpet
Muted only by distance
And lost in the sweep of the forest hillside
At still eventide
Under cherry dusk.

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