For love, for yearning, for the puzzle, the fine blue riddle of Wednesday we wake, leave behind the mystic realm of moths and mirrors, the halfmoon strangled night where dreams take hold and our bodies burn. Do you dream of me, I wonder: the ragman haunting halls, softshoe dancing, propped up waiting with these faded eyes, this strawman heart? I dream of you. I find you lost in unfamiliar rooms, your voice a silver song that heats my blood. I dream of you, a diamond peach, a broken pear, the taste of time, of raging sea, both hard and ripe against my tongue, my cheek, my breath inhaling, breath inhaling, breathless cry of waking, breathless flight through unreal corridors and walls. Do you dream of me? Do you say my name the way a lover would, with hushed and secret knowledge? Do you dream of me, of who I am or was? Of roads and boxcar straw? Of jukebox joints and pinball starlight love? Or is your longing fresh and young, like a child's question, a second kiss? I dream of you, the eternal dream, the delicate dance; for love, for yearning, the fine blue riddle of a flame, the fine blue riddle of Wednesday we wake to empty beds and empty wonder. Your dreams are like a song.
Reason for writing:
I wrote this poem to my wife after a long period of absence (she was in Ohio, I was in Arizona...) Beyond that, I suppose the poem speaks for itself.
Birth sign: Not entered
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View more poems by Michael Stephens -- Leo.