Purple is the Night


Purple is the night and passion is its color

Crickets play beneath the twinkling stars

I am so confined by my own desperation

Waiting for a train that will never come

Searching for a man who I’m in fear to follow

Yet I hear him in that corner of enchantment

Where smooth fingers persuade strings

To gently soothe my weary soul

Why do I hesitate to approach his intoxication

Stupefied by this glass of rose’

He advances with the things to say

The very thing to take my breath away

He awakens me from sleep

With a hint of innuendo

As smooth fingers persuade flesh

To softly yield


©Kay Salady


About Kay Salady

I write about the greatest force on earth that, I believe, lives on forever and surpasses all else. "All your poems read like I am watching an artist use words instead of colours full of feeling." ~Anon.

Posted on August 2, 2012, in poetry and tagged , , , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink. Leave a comment.

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