The dverse prompt, an A l’Arora poem didn’t grab me, so I wrote an aubade instead.
Aubade
We made a world within this room,
caught flying time and made it stop,
stilled the stars, the moon, a spinning top,
too high and cold to know or care.
We wrapped and unwrapped sheets
and slid our limbs, shining with sweated heat,
until an owl called out the night’s retreat,
and we sank into the grey of coming dawn.
This is the sweetest time, of softest light,
you lie outlined in slender fire,
dove grey and feather smooth, desire
dormant, slumbering volcano slow..
How to say that this was just a dream
the world we made is just a curtained sleep?
Best that such words the dark may keep
are left unsaid, for fear the dream will fly.
The Four Swans 