You can always find me on cloud nine,
bathing in juniper berries and lavender,
longing for the sweet sympathy of summer’s kiss across my scalded skin,
the soft song that she invites me to sing,
and how she lets me forget.
I met my final fling in a moonlit dream,
our fingers flushed,
interlocked as we ran through fields,
like rivers ran through the valley where I grew from a girl into a woman.
We tied ribbons around our wrists in the sight of a sobbing God,
who painted the sky with rubies, sapphires and emeralds,
drinking nectar and strawberry daiquiris as dawn stretched her arms and yawned, passing the moon with a lazy wave.
I begged my long awaited apparition to stay as the sun rose,
but all that she could offer was the promise of a summer romance that would last forever,
and I was still stuck in spring,
mourning my inability to be patient.
So, for now,
if you want me,
you can always find me on cloud nine,
harmonising with the echos of Elvis as I send for summer, yet again,
yet to learn that she doesn’t live by my schedule.
I walk with dreaming Gods and fallen angels,
but I kneel for my true love.
She lives in a heaven that I long to inhabit,
King of all she surveys and of all of my bad habits.
I blame my mania on her beauty and she blames her pale skin for her blushes,
sweet daughters of Eden,
falling in love amongst the lilacs and violets.
Meekly, she comes before me,
her lips parted as she prays,
aching and consumed by the cruelty of life before love,
it’s way past time, but I let that pass me by, and I just hold her.
Reborn, like a saviour on a Sunday,
I am fresh in her fantasies,
lace on my skin, petals in my perfume,
overboard in our oceanside dreams,
vivid and vibrant,
standing out against a colourless sky.
All it took was a few steps,
swept from one world to another,
high as the spirits that carry our secrets across borders,
like little love letters.
I held her, and she was safe.
Summer steps closer with every sunset.
I let myself lose consciousness,
driven closer to dawn and another day to be knocked down in my pursuit of the power of love.
I will see you at Summer, my sweet saviour,
so sure if it, I am,
like the sadder but wiser green puppet that plays among the stars,
so sure of it, I am, that I have learned to live in peace, until the moment comes.
Life until then is long and full of longing,
but every day,
the sun says “Hello” a little earlier,
and the calendar loses pages as quickly as I lose my patience,
so I am assured that Summer steps closer with every sunset,
and my sweet one,
so do you.
My mistress’ eyes are the only thing I see when I sleep.
However hard I try to escape the bounds of boundless affection,
all I do is dream of her glacial gaze,
in the service of a temptress,
reeling all day, long after I have awoken.
It isn’t a bad life, to be in love.
Last night, she told me that I have stolen her sleep,
opening the windows of her mind and gliding in,
visiting when night falls, to leave my love for her to find when morning comes.
Every day, she says, she wakes up with my lipstick trailing down her tender, slender throat.
So it goes.
All we do is dream,
stuck in a cycle of wanting but never getting,
having, for just a second, with closed eyes and distant bodies.
Life is so tough, when my lover goes to war,
I just dream of her eyes, and await her return.