True Name Of Our Sun
© Surazeus
2018 06 27
The girl who knows the true name of our sun
packs my fluid soul inside the flower seed
and buries me in the darkness of silence
till all our sorrow from the ache of loss
blossoms outward from my mute heart to sing
with tongues of tree leaves in soft river breeze.
The pale girl with eyes black as the full moon
touches her cheek, flushed pink as the Godetia
that blossoms on green hills in sparkling mist,
and smiles to wind laughter around her heart
like thread she sews on white crinoline blouse
when I explain how I fell off my horse.
I reach over to hold her fragile hand
and she blushes when I kiss her soft hand,
then her fingers dance on piano keys
which vibrate the air of the dim salon
with memory of sunlight flickering on water
of the blue pond where I see my strange face.
Each music note she plays pierces my heart
with galloping hoofs of horses who glide
joyfully swift among old apple trees,
and I imagine embracing her heart
to feel primal pulsations of desire
but I float paralyzed in warm sun beams.
Falling through emptiness of her black eyes,
where countless stars of her words light my sky
with secret calculations through weird code
which formulates pattern for puzzling rules,
I become just what she wants me to be
when bees swarm from hollow hive of my brain.
The girl who names everything we perceive
dips both hands into clear pool of my heart
and scatters forgotten memories of truth
to water seeds of tales about dead people
which sprout into statues on pedestals
who teach me how to invent words to sing.
© Surazeus
2018 06 27
The girl who knows the true name of our sun
packs my fluid soul inside the flower seed
and buries me in the darkness of silence
till all our sorrow from the ache of loss
blossoms outward from my mute heart to sing
with tongues of tree leaves in soft river breeze.
The pale girl with eyes black as the full moon
touches her cheek, flushed pink as the Godetia
that blossoms on green hills in sparkling mist,
and smiles to wind laughter around her heart
like thread she sews on white crinoline blouse
when I explain how I fell off my horse.
I reach over to hold her fragile hand
and she blushes when I kiss her soft hand,
then her fingers dance on piano keys
which vibrate the air of the dim salon
with memory of sunlight flickering on water
of the blue pond where I see my strange face.
Each music note she plays pierces my heart
with galloping hoofs of horses who glide
joyfully swift among old apple trees,
and I imagine embracing her heart
to feel primal pulsations of desire
but I float paralyzed in warm sun beams.
Falling through emptiness of her black eyes,
where countless stars of her words light my sky
with secret calculations through weird code
which formulates pattern for puzzling rules,
I become just what she wants me to be
when bees swarm from hollow hive of my brain.
The girl who names everything we perceive
dips both hands into clear pool of my heart
and scatters forgotten memories of truth
to water seeds of tales about dead people
which sprout into statues on pedestals
who teach me how to invent words to sing.
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