The Recurring Ballad of Love

He moved to stand in line,

With a leaking pitcher of wine,

Eyeing the moonlit faces,

And the wind blown raven tresses,

Humming a broken song,

Dancing all along,

Bare of rhyme and reason,

To draw the lips of season,

A gift of flowered petal,

With a pinch of salt and metal,

And break the sun tipped veil,

The nectar of daffodil,

On the tip of gasping ocean,

All an echo of one motion,

Till the time such thunder still,

And glistening bruises heal,

To bind the aches again,

With arrows of guilty rain,

And feed the fallen dew,

An act that ends anew.

5 thoughts on “The Recurring Ballad of Love”

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