Memory Of A Tune

A valley of desire runs long and untended between trembling thighs.
Carry my wishes to them with the breath of a unrepentant kiss,
then, maybe, I shall swallow your little gasps; pizzicato notes on our merry old symphony.
Oh, how this smirk -is it yours or mine?- flickers our lovers’ delight.
I’ll be sure to whisper your name, so please, spare a thought for my lonesome;
one day I’ll be sure to remember it.

Poem Updatetetetetete!

Whelp, I certainly have been keeping a bit busy workshopping my previous poems, getting them whipped into shaped thanks to my writers’ club feedback and critique. So below this are links to three more short poems that have received the ol’spit’n polish. As usual, all and any feedback, comments and such are more than welcome. Cheers! 

-L.

This Dance
Came A Deer (previously Spoke The Deer)
Ivory Memory (previously Ivory God)

Of Other Nights

Neon impulse dreams

A night of endless lines

Where fades crosses

Into your streams

Of endless consciousness

Come and enter this placid

Waking of vibrant colors

That endlessly shift

Into kaleidoscopic sands

Of realities distant

This is the end station

A slow dance of euphoria

Meeting in everlasting nowhere

That greet you with criminal desires

Of tremulous awakenings

The vast oceans are divided

By words and deeds

I see your eyes split reason

And dreams come into me

Of penitent corners

There may be a place

Where time crawls away

In the moment that I care

All simply slips away

Of quiet moments.

Simulacrum in G Minor

Oshora knows the feel of ivory. Her slender fingers barely brush the keys of the black piano, only enough for her sense of touch to be set alight. This. This feels like a dream. The room is large and bare. There are no flat walls, only a long, uninterrupted, curved wall that wraps the place in its cocon of plaster and white paint. Cracks on the surface spider at random intervals, creating rivers of decay between large swaths of pristine nothingness. The room’s domed ceiling is made of glass. Light pours in, washing the room’s centre with its radiance. The piano is the black hole at its center, swallowing the light so the edges of the room are bound by shadows.

It suits Oshora. Her mind is at the tip of her fingers, dropping thoughts over the piano’s keys. A melody stirs awake from some corner of memory, untangling itself from the bondage of her own forgetfulness. Air is slowly sucked in, the dust motes stir in the air as the light shows their ceaseless dance.

The piece begins to unfold itself from the piano and out into the room. Oshora’s heart beats with each note as falling light shimmers over her slender figure and, for a brief moment at least, nothing else matters.

“Oshora?”

She abruptly pulls back from the piano. Gasping, her chest rises and lowers as she stares at it. The keys still move, continuing to fill the space with melody for a moment and then, as it began, it stops. Timidly, Oshora half turns.

“I was just playing a bit…no one else was using it.”

An older woman dressed in white metallic robes looks at Osha with narrow eyes. “You know the rules: you need a healer to be with you at all times in case you need assistance.”

“Sorry…”

The older woman’s eyes become less narrow and some wrinkles form on the corners of her mouth.

“It’s such a lovely day outside, and you need your fresh air. Come.”

She turns around and glides smoothly across the floor. Oshora follows her, glancing back briefly to the now-mute piano.  As she steps out of the room, her arms flicker then disappear.