White Lady

A full moon crawls across the grove,
drowsy half thoughts littered about my mind.
Thoughts of home
and the far divide between,
my brother and my family,
and of orchards drawn forth from the scent of earth.
Above me the goat willow sighs in the warm breath of spring,
aromas shifting with life being born.

Something crosses through the light filtering through,
cast as a puzzle of milky white against black.
A flash of pale, soft flesh,
then a lingering brook of red hair,
as its ruby lips whisper a inaudible song.

I shift my position
as the ground falls away.
I pursue.
I am pursued.

The moonlight draws across a visage of marble,
its eyes alight like issuing coals.
It whispers again,
as ink collapses around white.
I follow the sound of velvet
and come upon the rapture.

She draws me in,
Her voice a enchanting promise of eternity,
as her flesh and my own
begin to lose their distinctions.
I see in me mind a flash of home,
of my family and friends
and of orchards alight with blossoms.

Then all of it is nothing
as I sink into her,
her form ripping the breathe from my body,
drawing me into a midnight symphony.

In the morn,
as the mist and the moisture burn away,
she leaves only me bones to be found
in the golden rays of the rising sun.