I just rediscovered this lovely piece I wrote almost two years ago that has since been collecting metaphorical dust in my archives. Have any of you ever looked back at some of your older work and wished that you could write as well as you used to?
I lost her in her haze of glory
entranced by musky melodies,
mixed amongst synthetic sillhouettes.
Wandering wiles, carnivours stare,
silently savouring, appraising;
entering, a skirt provacatively plays
about its smooth, warm partners -
a dancer's legs tentatively sashaying,
brushing past the doors of the den.
Stalactites stab in jerking strobes
of misty rainbow hues, swirling
tongues of flame leaping and swaying,
cavorting to the fanciful winds;
I lost her to the dreamy vortices.
Stirring the cocktail fools hardly
notice the blending fluids. She tastes
the touch of tequila and caresses
the strong orange-skin scents.
Flowing, the throng pulses in
that heady temple of delight.
She succumbs, loses the fight;
I lost her slowly, gently,
pulled by pleasure, seduced
by the kindling of caged senses
in that dark, unseeing womb.
I lost her to primal humanity;
I lost her to an essence of being;
I lost her to the fury of lives;
I lost her to a madness.
I wander while my memories stir;
caressing scented skin. I enter
the comforting darkness, feeling
my being succumb to the fury
of lives. I wait for her rebirth.
Also posted on Big Tent Poetry. More poems.