Matters of the heart

On a cherry-scented wind the sparrows glide past -

I wish I was atop the mighty wings of Pilatus,

staring past the blue-green mirror world

of ethereal Lucerne.

Between my toes I feel the grit

of a sandy paradise -

my friend, she's a lilac summer

painted a pale pink in the lavender grin

of a towering oak.

My confidante is a heroine on Venus,

a delicate Aphrodite I will never be.

In an exotic world, I tasted ivory ice

on the brink of daylight.

I'd call your bluff if only I could.

I wish I was the ridgy curves on

the key to your heart;

this is not a cry for pity,

I simply want to cry.

In a perfect world, I am Pilatus,

I am that thing my source of light

can't help but see.

Author's Note

I wrote this poem ages ago, and I'm not very fond of much of anything here except some of the imagery. FYI, Pilatus is a huge mountain in the Alps of Lucerne, Switzerland, and the Lucerne I refer to in the poem is actually a beautiful lake in the town.