Poem: River Mist
So I sat down to write some brief notes and ended up writing a poem. I haven't written poetry in more years than I can remember, but ma new ship has definitely reawakened an old interest. Buffy/Spike if you squint, written with the mindset of being in the same universe as this. Post-Chosen, Buffy POV, I imagine this being a short while after Buffy and Dawn settle in Rome. Concrit welcome (let's consider this a first draft...) Also available at AO3.
River Mist
by The Moonmoth
That feeling in the early morning
maybe before breakfast
certainly before the first coffee
of the day
when you still don't feel quite fully awake
and the dreams of the night
hover close
like the weight of a leather jacket
draped about your shoulders
like sunglasses against the glare
of the day
That special feeling
at that special time
when he isn't really gone
when the power of
will and
imagination
combine
to beat good sense into submission
And your flesh still tingles from the weight
of his body
And your heart still tingles from the weight
of his love
a blanket now not a burden
Oh how you would pull it close if you could
But like river mist in the morning
it slips between grasping fingers like
vapour
dust
So you go about your rituals
content with less-than-consciousness
mind floating
above responsibility
and let the dreams linger
just the memories of dreams
just the
just
River Mist
by The Moonmoth
That feeling in the early morning
maybe before breakfast
certainly before the first coffee
of the day
when you still don't feel quite fully awake
and the dreams of the night
hover close
like the weight of a leather jacket
draped about your shoulders
like sunglasses against the glare
of the day
That special feeling
at that special time
when he isn't really gone
when the power of
will and
imagination
combine
to beat good sense into submission
And your flesh still tingles from the weight
of his body
And your heart still tingles from the weight
of his love
a blanket now not a burden
Oh how you would pull it close if you could
But like river mist in the morning
it slips between grasping fingers like
vapour
dust
So you go about your rituals
content with less-than-consciousness
mind floating
above responsibility
and let the dreams linger
just the memories of dreams
just the
just