Oh holy ground under and over the realm hath I, this paving a crazy cascade of stones and pebbles for me hath I never walked on! Am I of the blue tonight - of the stars may I be.
Gordian knot the vapour trails tied, I was the wind too soon. Slow and slow the drift of the dust, some glitter I see, I see it lie atop the sand of lovers' honeymoon. Some shade of grey sheen on white, this the hue tonight on blob of the entire volume of the sky - Aha! Despite the images in the space subliminal, I melt by the edge of my skin inch by inch.
Words, just a few words mayhap, but hear the click under tips of my fingers dear - oh my love! Am I so desperate to tell you how this has come to be - did me fingers not touch the keys in so much of the black and white more from the body of the moon outside my window this night.
Did I tell you that? Did I, my darling? So much of the ache hath we to feel as may Shakespeare's lover say "Sad hours seem long". A lament or so, a lament or so I cried, thus on my eyes a dampness in lieu of the blanket of the old eyes - a layer in white but a blur may which blind one evermore. Blink, blink, and blink must thee lest this jiffy may thine eyne catch. 'Twill not be long my l love. Pain will follow anon.
Whose kiss this desire amorous in me, tonight that found my hands the board quite easily by the other bed? On whose affection this loss of sanity in me slowly and slowly? What matter in grey in my brain, psychedelic a screen splits my head in two - colors and colors I see my love. I think I will be blind soon;
Auburn not the shade now, so black the sky above kissing the azure within it - aha! May I deem the turquoise in the bellies of the nimbus and the stratus in silver glaze? The stars hide too, as does the moon behind the stucco of the skyscrapers.
Oh my mind! A realm mine, mine and mine only when the dusk moans with the dawn for the last, an adieu to the middle of the night and begins the heat of the darkness - this a shower still of bliss from Heaven unto me;
Away and away the moon even more now, the leather of the seat comes curling back to me - the rear of the vehicle, solitary a soul I in the backseat while a figure, a human in complete form the one to drive me there, he has brought me under the streetlights of the colonies so empty in purlieus, yet my love, my love, and my love for the light of it only. He a figure aloof, a father in composition always, he in rapture of the red and the crimson of chunder the walls of the court upfront as fall I for the layers thick of the mist on his windscreen.
Alas! Faint the glow did the lights address, Moyes' Lou sought Will in the space of the same car with me; white the light like a kiss on the metal in vanilla white, a mild golden off and on, did I hark Ghosh's feet run on the marble marmoreal, but in glass and glass fragile of his Palace. Oh my dear dear heart, did he break anything? A jar in glass perhaps? Tell me the truth boy, won't you? Am I this good to you, this much to say? What did you break?
Is the moon away my listener so patient so far, I tell you, is the moon away now.
Why! why the cessation of anything around? 'Tis the moonlight does the burgundy of the soil lose its color with, but this brown on me, on me my darling, I remain. I remain as does the lane, and I remain.
Why the halt in any way? Hath I still to tell thou my heart, my heart, oh my heart that bleeds so. Some ache, some pain does not go.
Seat next to a pane of glass, a respite of my weight, this weight of mine in chocolate and water, my whole, my body rested that lapse of seconds few when the moon, oh the moon was - Descrying visage mine, in shape of my face I saw, I saw the lashes hang, and the eyes drowse in sozzled sleep, yet dreaming of the glace icing in sweet perfume, a fragrance pervading in my room in the aftermath of the moon's departure.
Ah! The taste! The sweet sweet taste on the tongue, on this tip of my tongue! I devour it in lungs, breathing it through my mouth.
Hours, hours and hours herald, auld lang syne when may my say be!
Oh Lord! Will in afterbirth of the fatigue I, or in rebirth of soul of mine my stay?
A child, like a child from my womb, an afterbirth, a ragbag of placenta and red tissues of love to wipe my own face with, on my reflection no deprecation was tonight.
This the moment, this the one from the moon not crescent, nor a moiety of a circle in dimensions double, but it was, oh it was full, a full moon almost.
In that moment was I beautiful - did I not reiterate my love; I said what I said.
I was beautiful.
© Ananya