You see my love, it is not nightfall,
there are no lengthening shadows
nor dampening dew,
just the air settling like caresses
on your lips, your nape,
and the darkening
is but an otherworldly gloom,
a prelude
while the moon makes her slow tracks
across the face of the sun,
draws his scorch to her fullness
and into her gape.
In the passing,
the lost birdsong can be a blessed space
to fill with tender sighs.
Come, let not obscuring argument
block our dreams,
we can endure.
And like the skies
when our bodies have parted,
the brightness in my eyes will eclipse
anything
you’ve ever seen there
before.
©Vicky Hampton August 2016
