Awakened by a chorus
from the whipporwills
in a dreamscape
I see you and I
walking through a lush meadow
in the andean hills
Bless my foolish heart
as it beats with anticipation
yet my reality reduced
to an amalgamation
of past love sensation
a secret visitation
upon the eve of our wedding vows
pausing to dab perspiration
from your lovely brow
I wake up and walk
into the kitchen cove
and set water to boil
on the antique stove
our love assailants
too numerous to defend
plucking from the cupboard
your favorite african blend
The aroma cascades
like a mountain stream
trickling into a reservoir
of my memories
macbethian tragedies
our camelot made of wood
burning ferociously
sparked by the careless embers
of my petty jealousies
How ironic that in the midst
of war we were so close
our love that once spoke so eloquently
now refuses to be verbose
I settle in my favorite chair
and peer across the room
the early morning gloaming casting
a shadow upon my gloom
from the loom
of love we weaved our tapestry
and now scene three
of our tragedy
to be or not to be
I pour a cup of freshly brewed coffee
the dark hue reminding me
of loves evil face
a drop of sweet cream
a teaspoon of carribean sugar
sweeten to my taste
yet still tears saturate
my ebony face
as your robe rests forlornly
upon your favorite mahagony chaise
Ignoring messages
received the previous night
only bowing to exhaustion
for sleep is a demon
i valiantly fight
for when i close my eyes
I only think of you
and even now when sipping a cup
of your favorite african brew
I remember old school romance
from the tip of your fountain pen
I see you cuddled in your afghan
such blissful love vibes
your body would send
yet
like falling rain
from the gravier romance tome
the downpour of romance is falling
but you are not at home
Our fate in lockstep
with Phillip and Nicole
the characters in your book
remember when in the Andean Hills
we kissed in perfect syncopation
with a babbling brook
but alas
the earth shook
and dislodged our hearts
once so secure
i close my eyes and imagine you
walking in the door
where loyalties lie
hearts know not
as time passes by
time ebbs and flows
the passion
the throes
regret cannot quantify
oh how i wish
we could have remained
isolated from the restless horde
you my queen of romance
i your knight holding aloft
my righteous sword
uncanny how fiction
starts to resemble our reality
twisting the script
on a timeless bond of intimacy
two hearts befouled
by siren songs in the mist
faded images of moonlight escapades
and sublime romantic trysts
Can a screenplay
ever hope to convey
the depth of our sacred love
when the heavens opened
and our names written in the clouds above
the whipporwills
cease their melodic song
and fly away in haste
as your robe rests forlornly
upon your favorite mahogany chaise
I dedicate this piece to justina wheelock
my dear sister whose inspiration to my muse
cannot be measured
justina wheelock is the author
of the black romance novels
Like Falling Rain
Where Loyalties Lie
Twisting the Script
In addition my dear sister is a marvelous
screenwriter and poetess
Lady Justina
from dgreaves the poet
to you with admiration
affection and absolute respect
chao
chao

All Poetry by D.Greaves/Darwin Greaves by D.Greaves-Darwin Greaves is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 Unported License.
Based on a work at dgreaves.posterous.com.
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