Feeling a little bit gothic tonight...
24 July 2021
Over bracken, brush, and mangled moor
your silken essence calls.
Past dusty hearth and deadlocked door
faded prints on tattered walls
your tempered timbre falls.
My heart, once held so close to yours,
hearkens to that trill.
Along the ceiling and the floors
abandoned chair to windowsill
each angle do you fill.
Like fingered smoke you slink and climb
back of calf and round behind
counting bones on up my spine
to nape and earlobe soft and fine
then take me up and make you mine
Sweet spectre of your love.