weak and unsteady,
my jello legs carry me
where and as they wish,
so that i stumble over
daffodils, which frown
at me in their distaste.
leaded paint gilds my
stiff and aching limbs
and makes them frustratingly
uneasy to maneuver.
the breeze does not yet
carry warmth in its
arbitrary course, although
the sun shines deliberately
down through our eyelids,
making us squint
at its light and
with each cough,
i scorn the day’s
and wish that it would
wait for me
to enjoy, with it, its grace.
fluid series of oppressive weights,
coupled with ecstatic release,
danced in the air which teasingly
bristled against my skin.
with each flick and each
vibration of the cello’s bow,
the notes lofted me
higher into the shadow-cracked clouds
and displaced the daily weight which laid
upon my locked and laden chest;
it carried me through rainbows,
through sun storms and scattered tulips,
so that all i was left to see
before me became beautiful
and vested in me
only the joy and glory of sun-filled days
.cello suite no. 1 prelude
vacant thoughts flood her
with such storm, such emptiness.
it makes her so light
she is whisked away
by a wind so fervent, it
into her loose grasp
until its fluidity
coaxes it shyly
from her fingertips.
whimsically suspended from
the clouds, she whispers
set me down from this high place.
i can’t see the ground,”
the impatient wind renders
her words unheeded.
here’s to sun-blanketed naps ♥
finally, the sky exhales
its first breath of spring
through cracks in the broken clouds,
and sunlight rests like massless feathers
upon sidewalks of littered sprouts.
tints of springtide sprinkle trees
like spills and
speckles of faded paint,
as divested skin imbibe the liquid
gold that is the sunshine’s rays.
in the shadow of gilded roofs
rest sparkling children after play,
though the breeze still whispers
and prattles on of impending
off cliffs of kitchen tables,
we plunge into the depths of summer,
where souls shed the weight of winter
and flee its deathly lack of color
gilded with lucid charm and rusted allure,
neglected on the shelves of reluctant minds.
the perpetuity of single moments,
trapped in softly dusted frames of time,
slowly begins to dissipate
the same way the beauty of sunset skies
are lost so quickly
to the lightly star-sprinkled night.
couples’ romance turn into songs,
composed and carried off
into early morning venetian skylines,
through satin-strewn, open-windowed balconies;
invisible notes hang in the air like dew
hang off morning blades of grass.
premature break of dawn
ruptures the peaceful, sleeping night,
splaying colours into the paint
of its pre-oiled, pre-conceived canvas.
venice’s waterways glisten in the rebirthed sun.
under arches, over bridges, behind hidden passageways,
the streets of venice exult
in their own grace.
soft feather sunlight,
arousing and endless,
unwashed and untainted.
silver liquid sound
drenches me in its passions.
tastes like skin
feels sunlight on autumn dawns.