A Stolen Moment
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AStolen Moment
The Lizard King lies down with the Butterfly Girl
And the stormheads gather in the distance.
Two poet hearts striving for understanding and ecstasy,
One with a soul like a starry mystic
The other’s like a box of unanswered questions.
They strive together on desert sands with cactai as witness’ and vultures circling overhead,
In defiance of the place where the blistering blue meets the rumbling grey.
Their skin sunburns, grows slick with sweat,
A shadow falls,
Hides her face, chills his eyes.
Still they continue,
Struggling for the right to their primal dance,
Struggling for the dream of what is never quite achieved in story, poem or song,
Struggling for the glory of being identifiable in a landscape of desolate mass.
She cries out.
He shudders against her.
Thunder rumbles in the not so very distance.
They hold each other, profoundly alone,
Not speaking,
Hearts beating.
Each thinks of the others.
The Jester withering in old age and fame.
The Queen in the river with pockets full of rocks.
The Philosopher spinning down and down the gyre.
The Dreamer dead and imagining, tears scarring his cheeks.
Lightning flashes,
Ends their reverie.
He shivers, looks into her eyes.
She turns to the sky and feels a drop of rain,
A frigid kiss,
On her shoulder.
It was a stolen moment.
It is over.
The Lizard King lies down with the Butterfly Girl
And the stormheads gather in the distance.
Two poet hearts striving for understanding and ecstasy,
One with a soul like a starry mystic
The other’s like a box of unanswered questions.
They strive together on desert sands with cactai as witness’ and vultures circling overhead,
In defiance of the place where the blistering blue meets the rumbling grey.
Their skin sunburns, grows slick with sweat,
A shadow falls,
Hides her face, chills his eyes.
Still they continue,
Struggling for the right to their primal dance,
Struggling for the dream of what is never quite achieved in story, poem or song,
Struggling for the glory of being identifiable in a landscape of desolate mass.
She cries out.
He shudders against her.
Thunder rumbles in the not so very distance.
They hold each other, profoundly alone,
Not speaking,
Hearts beating.
Each thinks of the others.
The Jester withering in old age and fame.
The Queen in the river with pockets full of rocks.
The Philosopher spinning down and down the gyre.
The Dreamer dead and imagining, tears scarring his cheeks.
Lightning flashes,
Ends their reverie.
He shivers, looks into her eyes.
She turns to the sky and feels a drop of rain,
A frigid kiss,
On her shoulder.
It was a stolen moment.
It is over.
