A Drunkard's Tale

Memories of your gold speckled pastel sun dried eyes,
remembering that charcoal frame and those pupils that
has no boundaries as they swayed and played with my
body all night long.

Reflections of the falling night drop down behind the hills..
visions of sun stroked trees and the lone blackbird feeding
her young.

The xylophone tinkle of a close by stream coming to rest,
the tinfoil rustle of leaves under foot as the early morning
night time line is blurred forever.

Chalkboard stains of clouds are erased on the passing wind
and thoughts of an old-school punishment are a wisp in my
crowded mind as the lark gives me a song to drunkenly skip
home too.

I open my eyes to find no metropolis with you in it,
only the broken night.