ShearwaterHydrangea

He gazed with such intensity, A daunting figure clad in coal. His armor stiff, like frozen hands, Enthralling claws to clutch her throat Or softly grace her blooming cheeks. Hesitant introspection fell On snow from which her flowers grow. Her hair, a tangled wave of ocher Unveiled a visage so benign, Of blinded wishes unaware Alluring to the starving night. Her body lay, sweetly with snow, A nonchalance of threats and sin, Accompan’ing the monochrome scene

Her dainty fingers collapsed the silence, the hammers became the pulse, for the ice revived, and morphed into snow ardently waltzing beneath the keys, ringing of a familiar desolation. The memories entwined and twisted into a gripping threat of paralysis. The refrain arrived and slid with the bow into a whimsical meadow of lupines and a duet of fervent care. The lovers embraced at last composed only of endless yearning a reverie, sublime and callow. All the same, As their eyelids began to rise again Her lashes brushing his cheek, the dream diminished into a wisp, at a mere brush against the strings and musings anchored to the clouds for p

How pretentious, I thought, the sun to require such a grand departure in the Land of the Midnight Sun. I spied between the towering grass, adorned with minuscule drops, and followed the trail of pebbles and gargantuan slugs to a small stretch of beach and radiant boulders that gleamed in a film of water. I relinquished my slate of isolation, and tales of rejected love. Instead I outstretched my fingers to timid waves who seldom converged deprived of crashing of splashing or drowning. I wondered if life could thrive in a cloister lightly idling by. But if the feeling of life is exhilarating death at every waking moment,