My Poetry: What Future Outside Your Arms

What Future Outside Your Arms

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What future this man
with no desire
outside your arms;
as the summer
of our courtship
turns to autumn
the fresh crimson shoots
of passion
fade
to ruddy orange browns
and the songs
the morning lark
sung for us
disappear under
the cuckoos call.

What future this man
with no clear skies
outside your blue eyed gaze;
the last fractals
of our summer daze -
where we shed
our cocooned selves
and flew
through the scarlet dawn -
now fade to grey
with the clouds,
and my heart
and old pictures
become the only reminder
of your smile and grace.

What future this man,
with no desire
outside your arms…