CHOOSING TO CHASE GHOSTS OF OLD PAPER PASSIONS

APRIL 24, 2O13

sometimes you do it alone,
pushing, blindly or boldly, against the early morning,
piercing veils of grey silence on the brink of a day,
left to thoughts only practical, or weary;
or prescribed to pursue none at all.

and sometimes she joins you
on the back of a pre-dawn dark
with thoughts far less contained:
illusions, and phantoms; waking lies.
images cast like fire set to fuses

spark a dozen delirious suns:
the image of a face, faintly glowing;
of a smile; of her eyes, bathed and burning
in the sea of a cool white sky; a body,
stretched and arching, exposed

every sensual curve familiar as breath;
her, seated, knees drawn to chest,
a tender ball of need. and you, the lone protector;
or of wanting. and you, the only cure.
so, chasing down whispers of mem’ries yet made,

sometimes you pass waking hours asleep;
and sometimes you trail wings of fire.