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the silence
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Hyacinth garden Enter starlit interludes of mystical nights like a tether to our sight.
Night turns to shadow again and then shadow back to light.
Feel the consumed motion of two bodies that reach a moment.
Quiet broken by only the sounds of breaths.
Like magic simultaneously over the edge within hot, steamy, labored breaths.
Magic breath like a living song.
Each ear will hear nightingales in the garden.
Songs chime through the residue dark.
Melodies brought gently into each other's magic fantasy.
Now the somnolent feel is real but it is fleet.
Into reality, again another sunrise and night magic dies.
The magic is broken.
Broken magic leads to second thoughts.
Second thoughts that blow away fertile soil.
Second thoughts that never cover the seed.
Second thoughts that are as if houses built on sand.
Second thoughts so sterile and bland.
After second thoughts comes silence.
Enter the silence of the daily grind.
