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Image for the poem sleepwalk : la melancholia

sleepwalk : la melancholia


I lived for a few weeks while she loved me. Bogart, In a Lonely Place


shes that dream
that dream you have when youre not sleeping

she sits in the sweet hold of languor
a moment before she was nude
and wet in her bath
each vision is an artscape
as if painted by Bonnard

she wears a clinging robe
of bamboo silk, perhaps
it embraces her sculpted curves
in a way that I would kill for
I feel the rush in my fingertips
as my hands are upon her
my hands, my hands, upon myself

in the dream she says
if you love me now, you must love me forever
and forever I will

we are made of passion
to exist in perfect madness
for only monsters do not dream

and the fantasy does not die
but goes to the place where
romance and poems are unfinished

Im coming baby Im coming
Im sorry I could not wait for you Im sorry
she is all apology and heartbreak
and then she is away, away from me

yet I find a melancholy joy
as I am contentedly captured
in a love affair that will never be


(Artist unknown)


Written by JohnFeddeler
Published
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