Trickle

Incandescent moonlit whisps
trickled down your face like warm wax
on candlesticks. Now, I stare blankly
into the luminescent glow,
exhausted from futile efforts to recall
the warmth. So cold now...frigid.
How you danced
with the grace of an elegant crush
buried deep within snow on
that chilled winter's evening,
twirling my well laid plans
into thin air with each step.
You were not dancing with me.
Warm wax trickles down the
candlesticks like fresh blood
from a wound. I stare frigidly
into the flickering flames,
shivering from the memory
of the flash of red hot rage.
My breath sends damp
white ghosts into the cold air
with each exhale.
You were still lying to me.
Now you lie, buried deep within
snow on this Christmas Eve,
as I guide myself straight
through the wandrings of
your indiscreet passion
in vivid, mind crushing detail.
And the fresh blood trickles down
my fingertips like incandescent
whisps of moonlight on your face.

 

ooooooh wow love the imagery..very nice.

 

sizzlingly marvelous

"twirling my well laid plans
into thin air with each step."

brilliant:beatnik2:

 

Thank you.

 

A trickling flow,
from silvery-white to crimson red,
surging like surreal seduction;
whispered with soft intensity.