paperleaves
09-08-2011, 05:00 PM
alone, by the fireside,
aching for some
resurrection
between the pages of an unnamed novel
left for dead in an old barn
in the backyard,
I dream of it all.
you, my love,
like a muse captured in still life,
remain painted in my memories
like some great stroke elegantly fallen
from the hands of
renoir himself.
In the grasp of these distractions, I aspire to all,
to feel all, to do all, to be all.
i want to run with you
through the mazes of this Earth,
the forests, the jungles, the deserts,
and most of all,
through the passions that lay
between us.
women like me
may never come when called,
but when something moves us,
the great architect and atlas
cannot get in our way.
aching for some
resurrection
between the pages of an unnamed novel
left for dead in an old barn
in the backyard,
I dream of it all.
you, my love,
like a muse captured in still life,
remain painted in my memories
like some great stroke elegantly fallen
from the hands of
renoir himself.
In the grasp of these distractions, I aspire to all,
to feel all, to do all, to be all.
i want to run with you
through the mazes of this Earth,
the forests, the jungles, the deserts,
and most of all,
through the passions that lay
between us.
women like me
may never come when called,
but when something moves us,
the great architect and atlas
cannot get in our way.