Tonight she breathes in transpiratory requiems,
Like lavishment torn in a mundane whirlpool,
All sinking in the elliptic twister,
Drug down by its swiftly stirring quicksand;
Motivated in a cynical lunacy,
Dreamt up by the passion in which it prays.
The sleeping cauldron awoken by the daze,
In a hazy inquisition it hassles the silent grace;
While dancing snow webs,
Descend and land on the lash of the velvet dream,
She encompasses the reflection and lingers in its flesh,
Slowly she spins the spool and waves the ocean to rest.
Only desolate lands can vanquish the maiden;
In an instant push,
She falls to undeciphered words,
Left to plead in vacant fields;
Hollow shores cleansed the surface,
Recreating a perfect divulgence;
In a timeless echo,
She succumbs to its burden.
When the vapour pours from beneath the skin,
Enveloping the flesh with a moistened gloss,
Wishes become our sanctity;
Dreams become the wisdom in which we tread lightly upon,
Towards the surface we drink the everlasting water,
Poisoned by its own fickle mercy,
Bounded by the harboured shores in which it washes.
She angles the nightmares in a wound up vision,
Entwined by the epic romanticism it enthralled;
If the epiphany suddenly collapsed,
In a sombre recollection,
We all become broken,
Shadows become the only light we see;
Even in sleep,
We bare the burden of unrequited salvation.
©Ashley Leslie 2013
