Chilly air
blusters through the curtains.
Drifting like mindless wraiths,
they brush upon
the nights now distant tirade
of empty glasses and
brimming ashtray.
All sentiments loll
in the last dregs,
the heated passion
now cooling in the
debris by the bed.
Gently rain patters
a rhyme
on the trees outside
and something listless
waits,
somewhere between
the cotton and the chill.
The mind still numbed
drifts through torpid pools.
Ripples extend over their silent depths
evoking secluded musings;
melodies
tunes
fusing with the flesh,
a quixotic blend
an intoxicated death.
Such opulence and splendour
fills my heart,
such a baneful cup
I’ve kissed,
but temperance
was sleeping
while the soul endured this bliss.
As morning rises
consciousness struggles
to find its spectrum,
the hearts perfection
a mechanism
to close its cellar door,
this hotel california
this Avalon
with its glistening shore.
C.Blake

