Raconteur

A soft rising and falling
a lull in my breath, my
lashes flit as moth wings
as I listen to the sound
of twisted tales' songs.
Your voice ripples soft as
stories painting themselves
Your voice mellifluous,
dripping as though with
honey, folding my mind,
twisting my imagination
all round your illusive tales.
It was unreal to have found
you - such a dearth of your
kind, of your caliber! I am
loath to lose you, to ever
let you go. You who limn
a poetic photograph of my
less-than-lucid dreaming life.
Wherefore would you stop
spinning tales of wonder
for my eyes to dream? No,
mon amour, never stop.
We can spin our world, as
in lucid dreams, just as we
like. Our love came out of
nothing, and yet, so strong.
Tell me again. Per Aspera
Ad Astra. No, never let me
forget it. But for now, let
me hold you so close. Your
stories woven so soft, they
envelop me in your hearts
warmth as we drift to dreams.

© copyright by Michèle Aimée Lahaie, 2010