To Write

Ink I warm
with the soft thunder
that conducts the heart
and allows a flow,
a guided dance,
of physical nudity,
soulful mystery,

drumbeats pulsing
pendulum swaying
and I on my white fantasy
gallop gallant into the moment:

One with mirrors and windows
where the ink turns
conducts the heart
leaping, swaying introspectrum
kaleidoscope, symmetric
as the drumbeat
and freefall

so near the base
that will cuddle me in
silent stillness
and in a mothers voice
sing dreamy lullaby’s

of drums commanding ink.

 

 

Copyright Vladimir Fanshil © 2017