France

[douglas]

France

he was a tragic and dramatic figure against the velvet glimmer
of an indescribably beautiful night
his hand held up upon his glowing brow
his mind questioning life

the question being
how?

and within his eyes there shone a black
and emphatic passion
an intensity of emotion
from which his soul had been fashioned

and he thought of those days in france
when his lover’s hands had effortlessly
placed his soul in a trance

thought of his transporting stare
thought of his hands
as he had placed them there

and despite the tearing he had felt within his chest
he still loved him with all of his soul and mind
yes
he had always loved him the best

that masculine beast
with a beauty that ran deep
the insomniac lover
who had guided him through his sleep

oh
the abandonment he had effortlessly given to him
the joy he had felt living within that year
of grapes and dancing and wine
and brushes from his musky lips
that were nothing less than sublime

it is the taste and the smell of things that linger
within our memories
as time passes us by

the past always seems to represent
the hours and places where we felt most free

and fuelled by this reminisce he continues to dance
in a trance as if there were a chance
of ever going back

 

[fdelano]

I like the rhythm and the almost accidental rhyming, especially in the last stanza.

Paco