Romancing Camille

the purple dove in saffron skies,

the hammock of stars,

the dream in a moonlit room,

the souvenir of the morning sun,

the erosion of enunciation,

the landscape of memory,

that burning metaphor on the brink of sanity,

my reckless allocations and broken poetry,

who is antiseptic to wounds reopening,

who casts a shroud on all things clandestine,

who melts the cold in hibernation,

who blooms flowers from trembling fists,

and turns my heart into gelatine.