Fleeting Fantasy

 

Her touch is a fleeting battling fantasy,
Colored by sinuous grace of free flowing love,
Filled with a delicious perfume of black roses,
With a hungry presence hovering from a naked branch,
Waiting for an unwary passerby to enthrall

 
Ordinary graceful but with fragile caution,
Wary of the impenetrable abnormal shadows,
To the unseen piercing pattern of crimson thorns,
Of screaming pain of a thousand pin pointed terror

 
The silence of the stars seemed to fill the air around her,
And the trees tossed their branches to a rhythm of the sea,
As if a swarm was spiraling through them,
That gave her the ultimate hunger to embrace her glorious mess

 

 

She felt the fading of the thinnest sounds of misery,
A dreamy…floaty…sensation engulfed her
And inspired her talented hands to write lying poetry,
With a wrong imagination that lost her to right,
It gave delight to her radiant eyes in the silvering moon
In a stagnant peace of a fleeting fantasy

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