They descend from zodiac portraits in the stars,
these visions of the unearthly colors in your feminine eyes.
A dream though you may be, you have nevertheless become
my greatest desire to which all others pale in comparison
like the tired, off-white moon in the night sky. You tempt me
with intangible thoughts of your lips that instill in me
the urge to kiss you until I am drunk off the wine
from your crimson tongue. When I sleep, I feel your
ghostly breath blowing against my cheek, raising the hairs
on the back of my neck. You weave your hands into mine
as though you were creating a tapestry of silent affection,
making me want to fall gladly and without care into illusion's
trap, believing with the utmost conviction that this is real,
and not just one of my mind's desert mirages. I hope
that this time I will not rise from my slumber to the late
morning sun, that I will drown without rescue into
my subconscious where you dwell eternal like a goddess
of unparalleled grace. Yet as always, I am wakened into
a state of awareness that I'll never escape, leaving my soul
to long to be swallowed by the undying fire in your heart.
YOU ARE READING
Living in Yesterday
PoetryYoung Sang Lee's second poetry collection, featuring twenty poems that have been sitting in his desk drawer for the past couple decades. Poems for when you're feeling nostalgic and want to go back to yesterday.
