There is a certain lightness.
From absinthe’s vapours?
Or conversations with long-absent friends,
remembered scents and secret glances
at pretty freckles and forbidden skin?
Or could it be the leafy whirlpools
of a mild autumn’s day?
But still, a certain likeness –
a whispering of wanton lips,
that leaves behind in last night’s mist
a trail of my discarded burdens
and that imagined goodnight kiss.
– o –
November 2010-February 2011