As The Flower Sheds Its Petals

I wipe a teardrop
from the oceans of your eyes,
and dissolve its sweetness
onto my lips.
Springtime blushes
and nervous fingertips,
there is an encyclopaedia,
at whirlwind,
inside my dizzy head,
frantically, and desperately
for the right words
which stutteringly fail me.
I am rooted to the spot
of something impossible,
I can taste your smiles,
and your essence
wings and swifts
around me.
All is backdrop
outside of this tender circle,
pomegranates bursting,
volcanoes bellowing
orchestral music
in rhythm
with erratic pulse-beats.
And the Wolves
which once howled
the Shadows without mercy…
are finally at peace,
asleep, and purring like kittens.

Paul Tristram is a widely published Welsh writer, who’s currently up to his elbows in Magic, and long may it remain this way. Read other articles by Paul, or visit Paul's website.