Rustic Flame

By lupus tenebrae

Your aged eyes, steeped
in topaz 'til they
shimmer at sunset,

your voice, a soft-clinking
porcelain haunting
an empty hall,

your palm, a shred
of pale gossamer pressed
gently to my lips

and your sore heart,
an olde hearth that's long
since lost its rustic flame.

Unauthorized Copying Is Prohibited. Ask the author first.
Copyright 2015 lupus tenebrae
Published on Sunday, April 26, 2015.     Filed under: "Poetry"

Author's Note:

Just an observation on some rustic decor, I wasn't too fond of this piece, originally, but it's growing on me.
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