these feet once filled with rage
prowled familiar streets and lanes
in my dreams, in my drunken
hours desperate for love’s embrace
or a single touch given
with meaning and deeply felt
against another solitary night.
was it madness that led to endless
flights into golden fields
armed with brush and paint
eager to transform the landscapes
of my world, of my dreams
while you slept peacefully
and so exquisitely out of reach?
