the carrion crow of my soul takes his nightly seat,
like clockwork, around midnight he claims his post.
dedicatedly he picks at the meat, as one dead eye fixes me.
a caw shrieks the stillness like a yellow streak of moon,
with this, the memories of you begin their feast.
your hair falling like autumn leaves,
scattering colours on a painters palette.
upon the green lawn, your orange blossom song
like a dawn of lifetimes remembering the breeze.
your breath upon my face and your heart beating.
your eyes like emerald dreams.
and the shadows merge with the light,
the clock ticks to-and-frow
and these tired lids lift the sun.
i wake to find you gone,
with nothing left but the picked bones of love.
no song, no dream, no you and no crow;
just this body, a scattered offering to the thunder god.
© phillip mellor 2015