The bones of it
The pitch black sky
studded with stars
temperature
dropping away
as a thick frost
settles
on the grass
on the parked cars
on the dead
autumn leaves
tiny pinpricks
of light create
a map of sorts
I feel the cold
in my bones
and a sense
of being lost
in the immensity
of space
drifting
carelessly
through the universe
love alone I know
will keep me warm
her arms her kiss
my poetry driven
by the desire
to immerse myself
in her flesh
such is my life
these words
are the bones of it
John Lyons