‘Elkhorn Coral’ 48×60 – Oil Painting by SophiaFine
-Poem- by SophiaFine

A SLIVER OF A WINTER’S NIGHT

Memory still holds the faintest gleam that soothes my intimate energy.
I smothered the fragrant dance, but its flame and force still leaps,
revealing my soul to light.

None of us can fathom feelings the same.

His dream–dusted cloak is now hiding alight wings that want to take me away,
but none of us knows this…

Give me your heart and soul…

Moving with a swift motion he wrote like a pencil the letters in the air.
I read the essence of them one letter at a time and however I start and finish, the word is only one: LOVE

The burning eyes of desire scorch-tear with their flames that won’t die wherever they glance, are smalling to a dark dot… this ·

I am soul-naked now and I see my breathing words engraved on a marble pad to be read eternally… absurdity, drollery I didn’t unmake…

I want to emerge before my soul’s nakedness reveals,
to speak before the stars faint into light and images start to change…
l want to align with my own rhythm before I’m swept into his world…

This city ablaze in nocturnal light displays an antithesis as the neon lights start to faint like little fireflies’ sparkles, reflecting on the sleek streets where the melting snow is drawing his love letter on the ground to be seen…

Soon will be the end of night; the day will comfort the sleepless.

This moment is sent by your hand I held.

This voice I hear: “Tell me will you ever love anyone or anyme?”

These words are the offspring of his desire, spreading onto the glistening ground to take deep roots that in time his desperation will feed…

When the day’s light makes its grand entrance I will see him reduced to his smile…

A warm feeling wraps the body and soul in light that will lead the way, even if these stars are shining on someone else’s sky…

The distance shows me a harp’s strings, vibrating still…

“You are Aphrodite’s rose” my wakeful dreams will tell you.

At the end of the path, I hear our festering talk, on and off again… with voices not wanted…

To love and be loved… isn’t what the harp voice sings? I’ll love to that!

My lucky line!

Sophia Fine — September 2012