Elysium

The candle’s flame

reflects in a screen

of reproduction quartz;

a fair impression of clockwork

without the languid

reassurance.

She sleeps.

Unaware of my escapement years.

I slip between the gap

in the mosquito net

searching for a pen

and the solitude

of reminiscence.

Old friends revisit me

in Facebook vignettes

but do not wait

for the have-beens.

Rather nows, unpressured

here in slumber,

yet still I sweat

over words,

hoping she will not stir.

Simplicity diminishing me

with grace

and only the faintest

trace in that smile,

enticing me to share

and leading me on.

John H Davies

16^th IX 2013