Wednesday, May 07, 2014

The Feather (Reloaded)

The feather is swayed against the strength of the gale. Swept to and fro. As a single entity it exists but isn’t strong enough to resist the up , the down , the sideways

Sometimes it manages a moment’s rest on the ground only to be swooped up again like the dry leaves - high up - away

In my dreams, the winds blow – they draw me closer like the moths are drawn to the beauty of the perilous tongues of orange, yellow and red. Fire

The dancing fire tantalizes like the eyes of the anaconda. The unsuspecting prey star struck by the fireworks on Guy Fawkes night - the dark prowler creeps closer, talons out

She delightfully disturbs my dreams i must confess. This lady of my delight. I see smooth skin, shapely thighs and inviting breasts. I see no face. Fire. Prawler. Dark skinned anaconda? This lady of my insight

In my dreams i run but cannot climb. I leap but the talons of the dark bird swoop down. I melt in the waters of the swamp . Even then, she is there . Fire. Prawler. Anaconda. Barely touching sometimes stroking. I draw nearer the further i get away

The feather swooning. The fire flicking. This dream. I must awake


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