The Midnight Dance

The night’s as hot as Hell.

                The distant thoughts of a memory that was.

                That never was.

Your silhouette still plagues those moments,

the moments between sleep and the sunless wake

Your perfume a ghost to me,

                intangible.

Yet raids me mercilessly with each breath

I feel your form under the coarseness of my hands.

                Skin like angels ought to feel.

                Illuminates the soul.

The need to breathe deep after each taste still burns,

                your lips ignite the undying flame

I stare the empty dark with a hope,

                a wish, a want.

To  taste what the gods put here only for me

To blast the grains of time between the then

                and the now.

… I count the grains.

                My arid desert of grains.

VNG 2010/02/09