Effulgent cotton-candy moments melt
Onto the moist tongue of time,
Disappear roguishly, leave their honeyed wings behind.
To lap up the incense of their lingering trail,
Longing, like ravenous aureate flames,
Leaps out from the stucco hearth of my sadness
And swarms my nocturnal solitude;
A quiet patio facing the saffron fields of memories.
I fall apart into countless salmon-pink butterflies
And waltz around in those nostalgic vales.
It’s like singing an elegy or collecting wood for one’s own pyre…
Is there any benevolent wind to whisk me away?
Weed out this blooming autumn in the stream of my blood,
Unwrap me from the recalcitrant mast of billowing slow death,
Conflagrate this boat, trembling under the dank heaps
of unsaid words & unshed tears,
End my gradual migration to a twilit isle of thirst,
Propel me towards an alien land of windmills
Churning silk hopes & tasseled warmth
And rewrite me into my forgotten language of happiness?