Primrose
The
clockwork ticks transformed to fog and air
while
dusk absorbed the beacon's blinking signs,
-
surreal and indefinite designs
with
tangible his steady flash and flare;
beneath
the kind, retentive cloak of chance,
-
he breathed her in, her aural scent and glance.
Inside
the tavern sea-men ordered drinks;
amid
the tulips of the hazy smoke,
he
felt the night with owls' persistent croak,
and
Lady Sadness on the starboard brinks;
Invisible
the night descended slopes
in
quietness with dark, elusive scopes.
Her
primrose scent – his mind's ambrosian
gate,
remote
Paradisos and range of soul
perfumed
her whif surpassed, burning coal,
he
clenched the glass and drunk the dark brusque straight,
the
tumbler shattered - deep inhaled her scent,
-
with unrelenting his blood thrash torment.
The
night was dense; inside the mists he drew
with
red drops dropping from the deep palm cut
a
wraith, she vanished while her louvres were shut
the
nightfall's emptiness inside him grew
he touched the heavy door - the luster stained;
the
primrose scent inside his mind ingrained.
And
she descended - Nymph the fates had graced;
betimes
he breathed the scent of night primrose,
his
carnal prayer and adytum disposed,
her
sacrosanct of pathos' splendor traced;
with
flash reflecting in her eyes' domain
the
primrose scent dispersed inside the rain.
©
09-07-2013, G. Venetopoulos, All rights reserved
(five
sextains, sestines or sestinas - Iambic pentameter)
