Nightingale of Eyelashes and Dreams

Dulcet voiced chanteuse,
song birds burn and flutter from within you,
your voice soars and shines,
dispersing over the night
like a flock of phosphorescent plumes.

Sing me your melancholy melodies and
mellifluous carols of unbridled revelry,
drown me in those salty waves of your yours,
flood the void left in the stilly suburban night
with your misty eyed nocturne.

Cut my ears with your sweet accompaniment of
silver shard piano keys.
Haunt my every thought with the harp string's
wounded maudlin echoing.

I keep your torch song burning
in a tinder box beneath my pillow,
at times I suffer high fevers,
and have succumb to many
a sleepless night.
However, I do not mind:

You are my Nightingale,
nurse of my eyelashes and dreams.

For your bedside remedies,
I've become a fiend,
when your voice is clean, healthy,
sterile of woe,
it possesses pure curative qualities:

sing to me just one of your songs each night,
and I shall live, youthful and vigorous,
for a hundred more years to come.
For every kiss, each morning,
would add another year upon that.

poem by Gregory Allen Uhan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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