…to my longing

The dream, like a whisper, is fragile and fleeting
a moment set in time
a cold wind brushes my skin
voiceless, I stand in the silence
aching for a warmth that I cannot feel
for seconds I can almost see you
your face reappearing from the shadows
only to be taken by the vanishing waves of darkness
my heart is answering your echoes, echoes that are silent to me
I long to hear you as you whisper my name
from the ethers of time
I tremble at the velvet touch of the night
and the memories that descend upon me in this sacred place
I feel a gentle touch upon my cheek
as a white butterfly gently circles me in the heavy night
destined for destruction, yet offering comfort to me
the brevity of this dream goes unnoticed
such beautiful melancholy
where the things that torment me, set me free
once more I surrender to my longing
only to awaken too soon with the fragrance of you on my skin
and the slow fading moon
© Ann Bagnall