Here Not

Standard

It is late.

The falling moonlight has gone to my

Heart.

The wine has gone to my 

Head.

No fault but mine.

I lick the salt on my lips which 

The air has placed there; sea spray.

Another night on the

Italian coast.
The waves lap at my feet as I

Sit here on the rocks.

It is not my fault,
This calling.

Primal.

Always calling.

My mind does not comprehend

So I close my eyes and listen.

Tears on the back of my hand.

Joy.

Solitude.
And I fight my longing desire to stay.

My very atoms scattering in the wind.

The deepness of me,

Soul fathoms spinning.

Grabbing.

Pulling.

I am here yet I have never been here.

Everywhere lingers in my hair.

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s