Night Tides

Opalescent aura; the phantom that falls

between my blinds and slips beneath

my duvet onto the folds of my sheets -

my glance and hers meet

at the still and silent sea,

a refracted halcyon, milky hue.

I turn over to you, tight eyed, smiling

at the sentiments that stirred me

from my sleep and how

that silver soul sensed

the soft tides in the waves of my heart.

Under the Mill

That hour elapsed with urgency,

my hands trembled but my will did not

as I watched you, watching me,

wonder in those great vessels within their emerald oceans

and I averted my gaze down to my plate,

long purged of its contents.

My eyes found the waitress's, an unspoken request,

as a folded receipt was brought over with packaged mints,

and I promptly overlapped it with plastic

and held open the door, buttoning my jacket

as we made our exit, into the sky's embrace,

fingertips glancing at first, then strengthening in grip.

We circumnavigated that reedy body of water,

reflecting your soft countenance, and mine paled with plans

 - we paused - 

lips glancing at first, then strengthening in grip

before we carried on upward to the rusting sky,

my thoughts anxious with times ans suppositional circumstances.

As our mirthful minds crossed that inclined threshold

we could both discern a city's silhouette in salmon skies

and found a place to rest aching legs and full stomachs.

I opened my mouth - unable to speak; and instead looked out

to the sea where white waves wandered, and my eyes wandered

to those deep emerald oceans once more.

My hands trembled but my will did not,

as I watched you, watching me,

and you replied,

"Yes!".

The Widow

Susurrus summons of the solemned sea

welcomingly waves, beckoning me.

I know not her wish

or where I will wash,

but only in her clutch will I feel free.

She's said to be the mother who gave life

but I see the weeping of a widowed wife.

She groans in her grief

to her submerged reef,

her only relief a jagged rock's knife.

I notice that she would not mourn for me

in her desperation for company.

Yet I let her grip;

I let the tide rip,

and she swallows me whole so hungrily.

Lexical Addiction

I've got a craving

to succumb to that lexical addiction;

to allow those words to control me

with what little fix their diluted form still holds.

My subconscious control comprehends

that it's a habitual utterance

and yet with each delightful dose it demands

a little more value in its validity.

And so I let you overcome me

despite my weak-willed protests;

it strikes me that this isn't my usual poison

and yet the purest form might be positive.

I've got a craving

to succumb to that lexical addiction again

and with the utmost understanding

it is uttered.