Belisarius
Bluelighter
Her Hand
I stride over the warm sand, her hand in mine.
Wave-salt kisses my lips, her hand in mine.
A clock ticks. In the west window is red sky.
Against her my body strives, her hand in mine.
Black clouds roll across the blue; a storm is nigh.
I quiver with leaves in iced wind, her hand in mine.
A star falls. Her ear catches a whispered wish.
In winter the Moon is high, her hand in mine.
I, her lover now old, wait for the forgotten void.
In memory, I sit beside her dying, her hand in mine.
I stride over the warm sand, her hand in mine.
Wave-salt kisses my lips, her hand in mine.
A clock ticks. In the west window is red sky.
Against her my body strives, her hand in mine.
Black clouds roll across the blue; a storm is nigh.
I quiver with leaves in iced wind, her hand in mine.
A star falls. Her ear catches a whispered wish.
In winter the Moon is high, her hand in mine.
I, her lover now old, wait for the forgotten void.
In memory, I sit beside her dying, her hand in mine.
