Ochre Night
Were it that there were sirens
calling to me,
name spoken clear,
I should not have heard them that
night,
for the only spell cast on me was
you.
Gray stone spot, out to the shadows
we went,
where waves caressed walls,
where I imagined caressing you.
Although we touched not,
we entwined each other with our
words,
of hiking days and star filled
nights,
experiences to come,
and dreams to share.
Yellow-red orb crept above the
water, shedding its' light,
slow growing intensity, fuelled by
our talk.
Ideas and notions, pasts and
futures yet to be,
divisions and connections,
forged in the ochre reflection.
It beckoned me to reach across,
touch you gently beside your brow,
sweep back behind your ear,
drop along the curve of your neck,
and as I reach your shoulder,
end in a smile.
First nights' tension now gone,
but replaced with another,
smoother, yet deep,
subtle, yet persistent,
a smouldering ember, pleading to be
fed some dry tinder
to be gently fanned that it might
realize its' fiery self,
intensity unchecked,
taking us to the next juncture in
our journey
writing the story of our lives.
© Dave Lawson, 2004