Reveries Behind Your Eyes

How can one turn a red rose purple?

The lightest of touches make for the strongest embraces.

Much like kissing flowers under

sunset’s gaze;

a glowing ebb of internal fireflies,

the way we look so deeply;

reach so strongly;

feel the heated bellows nestled

between chests and hands;

nose to nose, feeling sparks

and caressing flames.

Spent following the crooked paths,

that display our single footsteps,

before each other;

the cracks and splinters,

the shadows we dare play for each other,

cradled in each others arms.

The only thing that matters are the footsteps;

left as two patterns, now,

wandering any plain, any ocean,

holding hands together

in bed at dawn.

Counting down the thousands of steps

we take to show we are in love.

 

 

A young woman, kneading songs about the

thousands of darknesses

welcomed when you fall to your knees,

sowing love for a man.

A man always destined to love-

fleetingly-

then only love you as food for a man craving,

starved of intimacy.

Such little hope was already fading;

a night light switched off before a child is sure

there really aren’t monsters roaming at night.

But there came this one man,

the sweetest soul,

who had always been there, just a seat away,

who embraced this singing woman.

Heard her fears, heard her melodies,

heard her heart beat before sweet sleep.

A trembling touch, soft fingers,

tracing the body shapes of each other;

learning of each other under warm sun and soft moon.

Counting down the thousands of steps

we take to show we are in love.

 

And that sweet man was you.

Is you.

And that woman was me.

Is me.

 

 

We found each other.

Right before us, unknowingly, like

presents hidden around a house.

Rosy cheeks, the warmth of hot blood

beneath skin,

leaning in for

the tang of cherries in our mouths.

We found each other.

Right before us, unknowingly, like

unwrapped presents placed at our feet overnight.

Counting down the thousands of steps

we take to show we are in love.

 

 

And so this one faithful man,

happily drifting across reveries playing

wistful cadences behind his eyes,

changed the life of this damaged woman;

all sweet candy and drug,

left behind like used needles.

 

 

Curled up on a bed, composing

opening notes and words to this gentle man.

Curled up on a beach under stars, listening

to this man devote his heart to this woman wrapped

in her past and silences.

Curled up in warm arms, opening cracks and hearts

and finally understanding true comfort, true admiration,

true acceptance and peace sometimes clouded in

the gaze of lovers; sometimes hidden vendettas and

on second appearance fake smiles.

But not this time.

Curled up in soft embraces in the shade,

talking for hours, unwrapping flowers for each other.

Curled up in new places, new adventures,

seeking sun and snow, chasing each other’s smiles

and following our wandering, hand-held dreams.

 

 

All these lines, lyrics, involve this man.

You.

This woman left him tracing reveries, with careful fingertips,

brushstrokes on a painter’s canvas. He followed her, singing

and breathing colour into her world.

This man left her following in his wake, tantalised,

so humbled in her heart that such a wondrous man could

love her, truly.

She walked with him, blissfully in love and unaware of such past

chaos rooted deep in vines and stumps of her mind.

To fall in love was frightening, it always had the makings of

letting in the devil to her bed.

But she realised she had never felt love at all.

This, with this man, was what love was; she had never felt

so breathless, so comfortable letting a man into her erratic clockwork thoughts

before;

she realised she had never known what it was like to be loved before;

all this lightness spreading through her fingertips,

that is love.

And so this woman is in love with this man, to this day.

 

 

On an empty beach, smiling at the ocean,

she wants so many more shared memories, she can even see a future

so vividly, she wants to embrace it because he’s

right there in it, without any cold feet in sight.

And so this

is what you mean to me.

 

*Charles Amable Lenoir – Reverie Painting*

 

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