Immortal Love

The wind blows soft

Through swinging bone

Brittle wind chime

Banging to the tempo

Of a mournful wind.

Life parched but heavy

With night’s memory,

Dew like sheen

Yet to endure

The morning sun and

Dry desert sand’s

Desiccating Touch.

Bones dry but not yet spent

Impervious to the West wind’s plea,

Spent Hyacinth petals

Faded and curled like

Burnt paper about its feet.

In his mind he travelled still

And sought the warmth

Of hearth and a lovers Soft

Tender corporeal embrace.

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