With a pulse of cello and scent of cognac,
a lingering want as the moon drags tides,
like a metronome with fingers.
Then—silence—the breath before the fall,
like a piccolo whispering a symphony,
with a single note.
Exhaling the taste of yesterday’s tobacco,
dancing between sheets of time,
and tomorrow’s storm.
With a hunger of monger in heat,
beneath a lover’s tongue,
a gasp—raw and unholy—
Into something new and nameless,
a lingering want as the moon drags tides,
like a metronome with fingers.
Powerfully penned, Adagio. Incredible write my friend. Appreciate you.
Damian
Thank you, Damian.
I think it’s the first time I read this kind and style of your poetry, the metaphor of the moon and its force over water to represents the deep nameless longing is amazing. Wonderful poem.
Thank you, Light.