Mon amant reve

I held you close all night, we chased music and smoke  
and the poems we wrote in a dream. We danced in the rain  
and the wind tried to blow us apart, but when I awoke
you were still there.
 
You spoke of a strange and beautiful garden
where I tended the rows by moonlight. A delicate affair;
dancing between beds of flame and emerald, naked
grace and sway of hips, bare soles soutenu.
 
I brought you back to the abor of my arms
and loved you among the rosebuds and clematis vines.
Beneath the archway, an arcadian heart flourishes,  
fed of an intoxicating elixer; a lovers' melange.
 
Our bete noir: lonely hands left empty.
As the music plays, the smoke entwines us,  
and the poems are too distant to catch;  
we make love in the riptide of the storm.
 
Better to love you in dream  
than to wake and reach for your ghost.

(Photo by Georges Pierre)