On Whims and Foolish Things


Were I to distil my thoughts of late
I dare say I'd pour them all
quite completely into a kiss
just to taste the Mediterranean
and its ancient fruit
all awash about your body
	essential oil upon my lips.

But truth be told
I could do so much more than this.

For in the twilight of my waking hours
when my strength begins to crash
and it recedes to little more than a trickle
my inner realm awakens
my dreams they come alive
and I am once again a man
of metaphoric means.

And you...
	whose gaze I cannot hold
	who has me staring at my boots
	and standing on my tongue
	you become the spark
	that ignites my world
where I need no longer sequester my desire
where shyness loses its grasp
where I can reach out at last
with brush in hand
and make black the golden sun
pushing it headlong
into the oncoming night
while I sit with you
and wax lyrical on its demise
	on whims and foolish things
on how we might commandeer a dragonfly
a machine for us to fly
to soar high into the sky
towards the stars and higher still
to that briefest moment 
when gravity simply forgets itself
	where night could never be more beautiful
	where constellations burn tiny fragments of their souls
	where earth is but a child in slumber
discovering that darkness is heaven
and we are angels silhouetted by the moon.

Then... all at once
before we think to catch our breath
we begin to tumble
head over heels into a twisting tailspin 
plummeting down through the ice crystals
into the majesty of the frozen sky
into the gravitas of life
into the rising and the falling
upon the most exquisite making of a dawn
breaching the horizon
tearing back a corner of my soul
revealing all that glitters
'neath the gilded morning sun
is nothing...

...but a dream I shared with you.

© 2012 Peter Smallwood