Summer Nocturne (Halcyon Days Revisited)

A gentle breeze caresses trees
where children play in savanna gray.
Meadows laugh whispered breaths
on a beautiful warm summer eve.

An inquisitive rain slips from dappled clouds;
sunlight bright on its mist that kisses my upturned face:
soft caresses
like satin dresses making love to my bare skin.

I lie in the arms of blue-eyed Mary nodding off to sleep,
while her love orgasms more rain upon my cheeks.
I laugh,
even at the sudden noble thunder that quickens some to retreat indoors.

Windows glow glass-eyed reflections of fiery sunset
beneath the storm kites sailing past us
to a sea dancing with anticipation of a darker adventure north.

The setting sun exhales her final goodnight kisses.
I reach out to embrace her fading warmth,
to inhale her declining breath one more time
before her wagtail vanishes behind the sea
and leaves me here with the song of the night birds—
a Chopin nocturne in E minor—
calling to the waking moon to light their way across the night.

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