The fabric of his imagination
Comes alive, in a light rush of light blue and indigo cotton
Threaded together by its soft touch
Bearing still the memory of her careless caresses
And Arden, who co-habits with the dying spice of her tresses
He wraps this inebriating cloth around his neck sometimes
To feel her fingers tracing his being, chin to clavicle
Coiling with it, into a place of ceaseless wonderment
Flashes of laughter, innocence and worship
Whip past his face, as he spins around the room
Flushes- carnal and karmic- make his visage bloom
Even as a lone salty, crystal ornament glitters down
With all the purpose of a slow waltz…
… his legs are affected by it too
One step to the back, one forward
One reaching for castles in the air
A tinkle touch lands softly on his feet, as on cue
And, once again, he is dancing with his lady of honeydew
But only until the dotted stole comes undone
Extricating man from memory
Extinguishing happiness from his armory
A cotton circle unto eternity
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