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Array
(
[sid] => 4255
[catid] => 1
[aid] => mick
[title] => Love
[time] => 2002-09-25 14:50:00
[hometext] => (One of my few attempts to try something without rhyme. It's just a bunch of imagery that I comes to mind when I think of the word 'love.')
[bodytext] => With a silk cloth,
He wipes the sweat from his forehead. As he anxiously draws back the curtain, His hands tremble with the arthritic fervor of an old widower, shaking the tissue from his grip. With a nervous laugh, he bends to pick it up, and folds it confidently back in the breast pocket of his suit from which it came. His heart beats to match the music as his footsteps sound across the marble parlor floor. He squints into the dimly lit surroundings, unable to see anything but the Baroque chandelier above him, Burning softly without a fire. Its amber hue not of itself, Its only radiance drawn from the unlit room. She ambles through the pillars into the world of the Corinthian, The world of the Coronary. She draws his gaze and speechless words as she flows across the mirrored tiles, A personification of turquoise interrupted by soft boughs of satin. Drawing each other into an embrace, the newborn flames cast their dancing shadows about the room. Danse Macabre flows into an ambiance that bathes each chamber wall with an epicurean romance, Turning every word they speak to Shakespeare. Note after enamored note, step after sweeping step, The symphony animates their feet for such a short-lived eternity. It almost seems as though they have expired, only to be reborn into a single fleeting essence for a fleeting window in time. Their ascent into timelessness reveals itself in the synchronized heartbeats of two beaus who intend to dance long after the music has stopped, But the night has different intentions for them. While the flames burn brighter, the room goes dark. The only light left burns within the four fiery orbs, left in conversation with the moon. The twilight horizons, one to the east and one to the west, extend limitlessly, Meeting passionately under a veil of apathy. But despite the casual lack of tone in their intertwining, these reconstructed lips speak more loudly than ever before. Now exposed, Their skin finds its reflection in the living mirror pressed against it. The feeling of familiarity in the effigy, along with its foreign cologne, blow a unsettling wind across the flame, Yet the two of them can never truly feel unclothed with the silken cloth tied in her hair. As their bodies begin to move in unison, and their hearts beam together like halogens, life itself grows subjective. Their earth stops its spin with each perpetual breath. For the sweat, the flames, the music, the night, and all else that comes wrapped in a silk bow now belongs to them, And comes only when they call it. [comments] => 1 [counter] => 224 [topic] => 2 [informant] => billyspfan [notes] => [ihome] => 0 [alanguage] => english [acomm] => 0 [haspoll] => 0 [pollID] => 0 [score] => 5 [ratings] => 1 [editpoem] => 1 [associated] => [topicname] => LovePoetry )
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