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)