Poetry is Not Alone in Gardens of the Night
Poetry is not Alone in Gardens of the Night
I dreamed you in a painting, only
colors of this world could not contain
nor brushes bleed perimeters, refrains
return you to my rhyming arms—lonely
lines that transit mem’ry of your waist
like halfmoon bodies lost—their gravity
eclipsed by what they cannot feel or feed.
I have to know: Can other artists taste
you in the flesh? Can other artists touch
the aura without astral planes we flew?
Can other artists burn the cosmic roux
where you and I are stirring overmuch?
Can all we are and all we yet may be
be hung upon a wall, the world to see?
7 thoughts on "Poetry is Not Alone in Gardens of the Night"
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To begin, kudos for writing another sonnet. Mainly I love how I can’t tell whether you are addressing a woman or poetry as muse.
Thank you, Gaby.
Have enjoyed reading you this month.
Lovely and striking in emotional depth!
☺️. Thank you, ma’am
Awesome sonnet!
Thank you, Melva.
You know i can’t stay away from them for long, even if they are almost always broken, these days.
the couplet encapsulates
our universal question