Bones, blood, flesh trapped in a brilliant moonlight.
The sand of the shore carried faraway by translucent tongues of water.
Around me the mint grows taller than the trees; lassitude turning from gold to red.
Eyes become the locus where the desert and the sea meet.
Imprinted on my body the number twelve; the twelve horses of the sun-chariot.
He, the seller of time, looks at me.
His voice penetrates the membranes of my cells.
One hour of impossible love for two dimes.
I, who can foresee the future, buy.
The hour wraps around my hips like a passion vine around a tree.
For a second you, the lover of the visible world, hesitate.
Streets inundated by the sweet smell of citrus.
Arms hugging a void.
You cannot eat that citrus and you cannot touch me.
Moonlight love, remind me, why did I buy you?
image: Liliya Kulianionak; Shutterstock; [link]
@short-prose-fiction (Gabriela Marie Milton)