L’amour Imaginé

Drift me away on a cloud

(perhaps by a golden string)

in the supple silence of the blue room.

Your heavy lids and heavy heart

bring memories, hazy, of opium,

of dreams adulterated

under canopies of myrrh

and the original electric skylight.

Together, we –

you and I –

sink into the deepest of quiet,

feeling only the shy flutter

of a moth’s wings

against that wall.

That wall…

do you recall it yet,

how,

against its chalky canvas,

we used our hands

to make doves against it,

even of it?

The innocence

remains still…

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