“The moon looked like melted mozzarella to my bleary and blurry vision.
Was I tired, intoxicated, or in love? Or was I sober, asleep, and alone? ”
― Jarod Kintz
* * * * *
Again, his name scars the emeralds of the twilight,
relentlessly trimming the sunny crown of the mountains
and it doesn’t stop, sneaking, boisterously,
until the last blush on the sky grows dim.
I want to dig dauntlessly into the echo of crying eagles,
to rescue the moon and her colors toning down,
dying, she breathes, charging one final whisper,
Run! Run before you drown in his misty heart!
And how can I resist such music,
a cascade of honey and violins in love with
the black and white shadows of an inconsolable piano?
How can I tune out the metallic kiss of strings?
When the fire in his touch comes and crashes me
with a thousand vows, sinfully, beautifully broken rules
that walk in a gown of raindrops and rainbows, and
sweet drafts of spellbound glow. How?
I lost my name in the pungent licks of winds, once,
I gave up the scent of wild flowers, the art to smile,
and now, squeezing leftovers of intimacy and moonlight, I wish
I could bring back the sonata of his faraway love in my eyes.
* * * * *
Inspired by Moonlight Sonata– E.S. Posthumus
© 2012 Broken Sparkles