Gust

Sleeping was her heart, 

from the good and bad its known,  

sheltered in it’s exhaustion, bearing the sign “temporarily closed”.

She mentally dreamt, to physically be present, in the roll call seated, 

by the sensual voice that whispered nightly, her name discreetly. 

Visualizing to be aligned to his soulful beat, searching the sky for a previously starred wish, that’d grant her this victorious treat. 

To ignore this quest would only punish her agonizingly worst.

As depth defying, as never a chance of drink, to quench an unbearable thirst. 

 Holding it all in, denying it’s 

 full lust.

Like no one knowing your serenest place, and being carried away there forever, by a wind’s powerful gust.

Poetry By Tamara Dorsey-Moore

Copyright (c) 2017 Reserved for purposes intended.