A poem by LILY MARTIN. 

Sunlight secretly seeps through windowpane
stained with the sap of its golden hue –
liquid edges that blur with pale blues
allow my eyes to truly look at you.

Your deep sighs chase away a darkened night,
along with those kindled vibrant sparks
it fades, fades away, into the bright.
Hushed whispers are lost to the dreamer:
drunken confessions plague this speaker.

Pale pink silk shadows feed on your dreams
of sweet, sinful decadence,
I, too, feed on your luminescent dreams
with my intrusive, deceitful schemes.
And, while I spy on your purple-lined desires,
I plague your dreams with dreams of me,
so selfish am I, coveting all that I see.

My lipstick remains under your collarbone,
right below your breath’s hollow –
and that’s all you’ll have left of me
until I’m wiped clean.
Gone am I in the waking world, never to be seen.

Hush now,
speak not during this quiet hour,
when moonlight dies in brightness
and sunlight’s hairs graze our shoulders
with forgotten, feathered kisses.
Moments passed:
feverish glances and a drunken advance.
Dark flames of desire
and kisses that still
Burn, Burn, Burn –  like Fire.

 

 

Artwork: Kniendes Mädchen in orangerotem Kleid (Kneeling Girl in Orane Dress) by Egon Schiele (1910)