BB Grey–musings

 

The pull… to push,

With stenciled lettered tiles beneath these worn fingertips,

Leads me back to you.

As I recall, the night before,

When you, my queen,

Held court in a palace not our own,

Yet made me feel at home.

 

A banquet feast served,

My eyes locked on,

The beauty,

Chalice cup, struggling to hold,

Spills over in Prussian blue,

And honey petals, gold,

A flower in bloom,

I drink of you.

 

Framed art,

Adorns my bended knee for all to see,

You danced,

From story to poem,

In perfect time, rhyme,

And imagery,

Never leaving ground,

An angel unbound,

Floating effortlessly,

Heaven-sent majesty.

 

But that was eight hours ago.

 

Now…

 

I am left with the whole of you,

In emptiness,

That spars to bring to life,

Taste, touch,

Scent, and sound,

A fight for words to cite,

Last night,

When the Queen held court.