If I close my eyes and pray to an atheist god,
I can still see you, shimmering in the pale moonlight, your form
and your colour are the way I love them, infinitely.
Sometimes I catch the solemn fragrance of roses in my sky
and my twilight bows deep into destitute seas. For
you have gone, spirited away by a yearning greater than my need
If I close my eyes, I can still find that sweet, sacred spot
that once burned fires of passion, the warmth of salty air on your lips.
Where the last passion vein lies, is forever cooled by cruel waters of mourning.
My nocturnal regard slumbers fitfully. It is as if my heart has flown from
its prison to call to you, to want you, to rest on your shoulder, to whisper
promises over and over again, on a net of joyous song.
If I close my eyes and pray to an atheist god,
I can still feel your fingers entwined with mine,
so tightly we held each other, there is no beginning
nor end; a mirage of twin loving souls dancing on water.
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You know, I'm just culling from my repository of poems to meet the 20-post limit. Waiting in 5-minute intervals positively drives me crazy.