Diurnal lullabies

Diurnal lullabies

blown through mousy tress

enthused us

when on trampoline

made of bouncy floral pompons

and kisses glued off,

fallen from the cheeks, rosy from weight.

Wounds dummied up,

not to stretch of pain,

not to wake up and open up in disdain

to speak not this time

when voiceless opera of the night

is reserved but for us, aria of muteness

with instruments more silent

than a hushed hunger of a starving child.

Elephantine echos

we drank like the gospel truth,

french vermouth, aperitif

between freedom and poets uncouth,

let our watchword be the flame

we can take that burn, lacquering

the sheathing of each swirling blast,

then suddenly, aroma of stagnation, a turn or two

over the opulence on the masquerade ball,

hands washed with gold until bronze.

Punching blue where pale,

words forgetful before thoughtful,

storm cries dim heavy air,

mirage widened under the feet like flags,

those long wings I wear

when walking is longer than a twin rainbow

under heavyhearted parade.



 

© 2010. Tihana Novosel