Fever | A Poem

A poem based off a rather strange dream I had. This one took some time to get it to sound right. I just hope it makes sense.

 

I dream of eyes drawn in pastel,

Soft and green.

With a knowing gleam that asks but one question:

Where are you?

Of handmade windmills,

Their corrugated wings turning slowly in the arid breeze.

Creaking and groaning as they spin.

If you listen closely,

You can hear the screams of dying men.

Of Turkish dancers wearing tall black hats and long grey gowns.

They twirl to a tune I do not know,

But have long ago heard before.

Among them I see my lover.

Spinning endlessly among the dancers.

Caught in their eternal trance.

His head craned back,

His arms opened wide,

His eyes contently closed.

Spiraling endlessly as if in prayer to the stars.

I am awed by his reverence even as I’m sleeping.

I have never known a more beautiful creature than my lover.

And I am afraid he will never know.

While I’m looking down upon him in my slumber,

As he dances into eternity,

He opens his eyes.

And I am consumed.

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