Blissful

 

Wide spaces,
fresh motes of weightless air
and light.
Just enough radiance,
splashes of glow over still life.

Breathing this air,
sucking it into my lungs
for it feels like these whispers
carry the cure for the weary muscle.
Face bearing scraps of bliss,
wide eyes reflecting a golden universe,
light pouring through black irises
shriveled vessels unfurling.

Clinging to this bliss
as if holding a white cloud between your thumb and forefinger
on a windy morn in the heavens
The wisps of white foam over-pouring
I’m gathering them into my bosom greedily
loose, staining, tangling.
I crave this peace
to the smallest, lightest shred  I can secure,
wishing it to linger
one more hour, one more day
stay, pray do not fade away.

For this afternoon,
it feels like the sun hasn’t drifted westward yet.

The sun hasn’t drifted westward.

Copyrights © Senali Perera 2016 (4.3.2016 2:14 PM)