Tempest

Feeling the drift of the day as

stormy weather sends gales

to inspire my visions of

creativity; pondering on a

desire to dip into my thoughts,

 

memories to plummet like

Alice... where once again

the fragrance of patchouli

with a touch of sandalwood

plays with my Bohemian senses,

 

not bothered by minutes or

hours, just a deep awareness

of the rhythm, glad to be

relishing in my own sensations.

 

No cares had we back then,

just drifting like clouds

though we never realized

it at the time,

 

me in black corduroys

with butterfly top...

feeling so cool

with my straight

long dark hair,

 

as I explored those

melodramatic dramas

of debonair kings

and those dastardly,

fiendish villains.

 

 

Then! As light dims...

I exhale to the

melodic music that

was ours...where

candle flames whisper

of a Sunken Garden dream;

 

submerged in a fantasy

of our making, not crude

or brash; just exhilarating,

ramblings about something

and nothing; a chance to be

someone else...

 

to rattle out verses,

lines both poignant

and strong; to sing

with raucous laughter

at our cacophony,

 

 

though we took

our lines seriously,

when candles were lit

we'd drink the grape,

while others smoked weed;

prattle would be shared

with rapport.